Derplock: John's Blog
by Autumnstar17
Summary: Scottie and Emily's adventures in BBC London continue as they help Sherlock and John take on a series of cases overlooked in their favorite TV show.
1. Tilly Briggs Cruise of Derp

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **This series is a spinoff of Derplock. If you haven't seen the original yet, I highly suggest you start there (link can be found on my page).

* * *

><p><strong>TILLY BRIGGS CRUISE OF DERP<strong>

* * *

><p>It was pouring rain. The days were getting shorter, with the darkness that blanketed London before even 5 o'clock providing proof of that, and lights from inside shop windows glistened off of the wet ground. Sherlock and his flatmates were currently standing under an awning hanging from the building they'd just come out of. Emily shivered and clung to the crease of the detective's elbow.<p>

Sherlock shifted his gaze down towards her. "Cold," she whimpered. John looked over from where he was standing beneath an umbrella less than a foot away and smiled a little.

"Yes," Sherlock agreed slowly. He looked annoyed, but he didn't pull away either, so he couldn't have been all that bothered by the gesture. "A typical attribute whenever water falls from the sky."

"Not cold, just want cuddles," Scottie said and latched himself to Sherlock's other side. Sherlock held in a breath for a moment and then exhaled dramatically.

"Rain doesn't always mean cold," muttered Emily. "Hawaii, for instance." She stared forward distractedly as she spoke, watching the occasional car pass by and splash up a small tidal wave in the process. "In Hawaii it rains so frequently and so lightly that sometimes it'll still be warm and sunny out."

Sherlock pursed his lips but didn't respond.

Scottie leaned forward a bit to see Emily past Sherlock. "We aren't in Hawaii," he pointed out.

"No. No, I didn't think so."

The group was then quiet for some time. The rain was heavy and loud, smacking against the pavement and running down the street's curb like a river. Emily started to slide her hands further down Sherlock's arm until they nestled tightly around the man's wrist inside of his coat pocket, as if she were attempting to sap up whatever remaining body heat he had.

Sherlock stiffened. "Do you want my gloves?" he offered, although it was difficult to tell from his tone whether he was being sincere or sarcastic.

"No, but thank you," Emily answered regardless.

John shifted his weight and looked down at his wristwatch with a frown. "I don't think a cab is coming," the man finally concluded, looking up at Sherlock. "Suppose they're busier in weather like this?"

"Maybe we can try calling again?" offered Scottie.

Sherlock scanned his eyes across the scene as if making sure that their taxi wasn't just about to pull up. "We could probably walk. We aren't _all_ that far from Baker Street."

"But John's the only one who brought an umbrella!" whined Emily.

"Then I suggest you walk _quickly._" Sherlock then tried to pull his hands from his pockets, which Scottie and Emily pushed back in and gripped tighter with a determined "_no._" Sherlock frowned and attempted to take a step. All three of them moved forward ever so awkwardly. "John. Help."

"Your problem, not mine!" John sang and gave his umbrella a little twirl over his head as he started further down the block.

Grumbling something inaudible, Sherlock waddled after him with the teens dragging along at his sides. They stopped at the curb and waited momentarily for the walk sign to come on, at which point Sherlock made an attempt to tiptoe around a particularly big puddle in the crosswalk. Emily, who was wearing rain boots, trudged straight through it, completely oblivious to the water that she had caused to seep into the boys' shoes. At the first opportunity Sherlock retaliated by shoving the girl underneath a waterfall that was gushing out from a rain gutter. Emily shrieked and leapt a full foot out of the splash zone.

Scottie started to cackle wildly at this. Grinning wickedly, Sherlock said "You turn!" and swept the boy off of his feet effortlessly.

"Wait no stop!" Scottie flailed, his smile quickly fading. Ignoring his protests, Sherlock set him down again directly under the gutter's consistent spew of cold water.

John had gotten much further down the block than them because of this, but he stopped and turned to face them. "Look at you skinny wet idiots playing in the rain," mused the doctor.

Scottie, Sherlock, and Emily, who were all equally soaked by this point, exchanged glances and then looked back towards John, who had apparently figured out what they were scheming and took off running.

The three of them darted after him, failing to suppress laughter, all the while running right through a 'don't walk' light. A block and a half later Sherlock caught up to John and snatched away his umbrella. The man yelped as Scottie and Emily wrapped their arms tightly around the older man. With a slight whimper in the back of his throat, John hung his head and accepted his cold and wet fate.

A puddle had gathered on the landing and followed the foursome in the form of a trail of water up the stairs and into 221B Baker Street. Shoes were immediately removed and thrown in a pile on top of one another in the corner of the living room. Sherlock hung up his coat and scarf and removed his gloves before shaking out his hair like a dog that had just taken a bath. He threw himself down in his armchair. Scottie followed suit and then wrapped himself up in a blanket on the couch. John had gone into the kitchen and started hearing up a kettle.

"Can we turn this thing on?" Emily asked, squatting down in front of the fireplace.

John came back in to have a look at it. "Oh. Geez, does that even work? I think it's electric." The man got onto his knees beside her and attempted to figure out how to light the fireplace.

Sherlock had started removing his socks and wrung each out over the rug. He let them fall to the floor beside his chair and clenched and unclenched his toes a couple times. John had apparently figured out the fireplace by then, because it crackled to life all at once and helped to light up the otherwise gloomy room.

A whistling noise sounded from the kitchen and John jumped up again to go deal with the tea. Sherlock let out a long and almost too-relaxed sigh and melted further into his armchair. Similarly, Emily slid onto her stomach in front of the fireplace.

John came back in with two mugs. He handed one off to Scottie and then Sherlock, respectively, and then went back into the kitchen to fetch the remaining two and set one of those down beside Emily. Once he had finished distributing the tea John finally had a seat in his own armchair.

"Nothing quite like a warm cuppa beside the fireplace while it's raining outside," the man mused.

"Someone tell a story!" Scottie suddenly exclaimed. He was sitting upright now and had the blanket draped over his shoulders.

Sherlock furrowed his brows and looked up slightly. "A story?" he echoed.

"Yeah. Read us a book, or… I don't know, make something up. Or tell me something you've never told anyone before."

Sherlock tilted his head. "Alternatively you can turn on the telly or something."

"Well you're no fun," Scottie grumbled into his mug.

"So," John said slowly. He pursed his lips for a moment and then glanced over at Emily, who had sat up just enough to drink her tea. "How's your leg doing? I haven't heard you complain about it for nearly a week now."

"Um. Well, at this point I don't think the mark is ever going away," shrugged Emily. "But I can walk normally without OD'ing on Advil first, so that's cool. And I'm not a pussy so I didn't need therapy or anything."

John's eyebrows just about shot up to his hairline, but still he sipped at his drink without commenting.

Emily leaned back as to sit up the rest of the way. "And what about you?" she asked. "Any new and exciting developments in the life of Dr. John H. Watson?"

"Actually, uh, Sarah and I were thinking about visiting New Zealand for a bit."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, a couple weeks maybe. A friend of mine recently reached out and offered up his guest home. And I just thought, well, after all those guns and bombs and maniacs… it might be nice for a little time away from the city. But of course, I was waiting to book tickets until… Well, y'know, I was sure things were alright over here. What with…" The doctor trailed off momentarily, looking down at his mug. "And I'm understandably a little hesitant about leaving you two in Sherlock's care for the rest of the month," he went on after a moment.

Emily had very much perked up at this news. "New Zealand!" she breathed. "Oh, it's beautiful there - that's where they filmed Lord of the Rings! Can't we come with you?"

"I don't think that's such a good idea," John countered.

"Why not?" begged Scottie from the opposite end of the living room.

"Well." John strummed his hand against the side of the cup for a moment. "It's certainly not that we wouldn't _want _you there, but…" He then looked up at Sherlock expectantly.

"Neither of you have passports," Sherlock finished for him, noticing.

Scottie made a face. "Okay. But I mean. How difficult can _those _be to procure?"

"_Very _difficult. And in your case impossible, unless you have all the proper documentation to show for it. Birth certificates, social security numbers, and of course, being minors only adds a whole 'nother layer to the conundrum…" The detective leaned forward in his seat and folded his hands in his lap. "And that's just on your end," he shrugged. "The government apparently isn't as pressed on time as one applying for a passport; a point that is almost constantly being proven . Even with everything on hand, I wouldn't guarantee the possibility of flying out of Britain within the month."

"But… that's where having Mycroft as a brother comes in?" Emily asked hopefully. Sherlock smiled falsely down at her just before pressing the mug to his lips.

* * *

><p>John and Sarah took off on their trip two days later. In their absence things were fairly slow around Baker Street. Sherlock kept himself busy running back and forth between experiments, and Scottie and Emily mostly lay in wait for the second season.<p>

One particular morning Sherlock had just about finished up an analysis of perfumes on his website when he decided to crack open his violin case. Except that it wasn't in the corner of the room where he usually left it. Sherlock hesitated for a moment. He looked over at Scottie, who was entirely engulfed in his computer and had apparently not noticed Sherlock coming into the living room. The detective then ventured downstairs and into 221C, where he found Emily exactly as he expected to.

Emily also didn't seem to notice Sherlock's presence, but the consulting detective waited patiently in the doorway as she finished up the piece she was playing on his violin. After the last note Emily held the instrument down. "I don't know that one," Sherlock commented, causing her to jump a little and whip her head around.

"Phantom of the Opera," she answered.

"Hm. Not bad. But maybe try using more of the bow. You're relying too much on the upper half."

Emily rolled her eyes a little. "You sound like my conductor. Is there something you wanted, or…?"

Sherlock pursed his lips. "No," he said after a moment, "just checking in."

"What's this?" Scottie asked. He turned to face Sherlock, who had just reentered the room.

Sherlock blinked. "What's what?"

"This," the boy repeated, waving a pamphlet that he had picked up off of the dining table. "Tilly Briggs Pleasure Cruise," he read.

The detective gave a disinterested shrug and strode across the room. "Must've come in with the mail," Sherlock answered nonchalantly.

Scottie squinted. "But it was next to your…" With a shake of his head he unfolded the three-part advertisement to get a better look at it. The cover showed a very white ship's deck with a young couple lounging about and clinking their glasses, all the while laughing with altogether too-fake grins. Scottie carefully folded the pamphlet back up again and set it down. He then went bounding after Sherlock, who had gone back to the kitchen table and started distributing something that looked like dirt into several different ziplock bags.

Scottie tilted his head and frowned down at Sherlock's latest project. "Were you thinking about taking us on a holiday too?" he asked.

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, the flier-"

"Was likely dropped into every mailbox on Baker Street," Sherlock finished for him without looking up. "Drop it."

Scottie exhaled dramatically and left the room, swiping up the pamphlet again on his way. After scurrying down the stairs he pushed open the unlocked door to 221C and found Emily playing Sherlock's violin in their shared bedroom, which, aside from the bathroom, was still the only room in the flat that looked lived in.

She stopped when Scottie came in and set the violin down on top of its closed case. "Hey hey hey," the girl sang. "Oh, so check this out: you know how Mrs. Hudson always does our laundry, right? Well, as you probably remember, last time she gave me a hard time about being old enough to start putting the folded stuff back into my drawer. Anyway so she left the basket at the foot of my bed and out of spite I hadn't touched it since before John left, but now - look!" Emily skipped over to her dresser and pulled open the first drawer, which she gestured to the contents of. "All of them, neatly put away _exactly _where they belong and even color coordinated! Magic!"

"Yeah," Scottie seethed. "That's because _I _did that, you lazy fuck."

"Oh. Well… thanks, then."

"_Anyway_, I wanted you to have a look at this." Scottie came up to Emily's side and handed her the pamphlet for the Tilly Briggs pleasure cruise. She took the paper and then looked back up at him blankly. "Sound familiar?"

"Um. Not really, no?"

"Tilly Briggs," the boy repeated.

Emily shrugged.

"It was a case," explained Scottie. "On John's blog; not from the episodes themselves."

"Wh… So you think we're going on another case? Before season two?"

Now it was Scottie's turn to shrug. "I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe. I mean, probably, yeah."

Emily sucked in a breath and turned the paper over in her hands. "So like… a _real _case, huh? Not the kiddie errands we ran between the other episodes? There wasn't anything like this in the first season, though."

"I don't think there was supposed to be anything in the first one. John's blog started to pick up after all that, remember?"

"I guess," the girl muttered. "So what do we have to go off of?"

"I'm not… sure, actually," Scottie answered slowly. "I don't remember reading anything about this one on the blog, I just recognized the title. Sort of. _Technically _Sherlock hasn't even said anything about a case yet. We might be jumping the gun on this one."

"Or he's waiting for John to get back from New Zealand?" offered Emily.

"Yeah. Could be."

The teenagers each had a seat at the edge of Emily's bed at the same time and stared forward in contemplative silence.

"This is going to be an entirely different ballpark," Scottie finally said. "They're probably smaller cases, but we won't have the advantage of knowing line-for-line what comes next."

"Real life isn't typically equipped with a script," Emily reminded him.

"Let's just try to be careful, okay? No more getting shot at if it can be helped."

* * *

><p>Scottie and Emily met the couple just outside the airport, each holding up a brightly colored sparkly sign - one for John and one for Sarah. John and Sarah came out from a pair of sliding glass doors and wheeling a single suitcase each. Spotting the kids and their signs, John smiled and gave a little wave and they both ran forward to hug him.<p>

"Oh, geez, I wasn't gone _that _long," laughed John.

"Yes you were," disagreed Scottie. "Promise you'll never ever leave us alone like that again."

"Alone? Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson were there. Oh - is that the line for cabs over there? We should probably get in it."

"You guys go on ahead," Sarah said. "I've already called an Uber."

"Why wouldn't we carpool?" Emily squinted and shifted her eyes from Sarah to John and back. Her eyes then widened with realization. "_Oh. _Shit. I'm so sorry, I didn't-"

"What? No, we-" John said quickly.

"It's okay," Sarah interrupted at the same time. "Two different directions. Easier this way."

"Oh. Um… okay."

"Yeah, that's… Yeah. Yeah. What she said."

Sarah glanced down at her phone and then awkwardly said goodbye to them all just before going to meet her ride. Scottie and Emily couldn't help but notice they hadn't done their usual parting ways kiss and exchanged uncomfortable glances.

"_Is_, uh, everything okay with you guys?" Scottie asked as they were getting into the back of the line. Emily shot him a look that implied he had no right to ask that, to which Scottie shrugged.

"It's… a long story," John answered wearily. "We're fine," he then said a little too quickly. "Things are fine. Sarah's… We're good. Nothing you need to be concerned about."

Emily raised a skeptical eyebrow at the man. "And other than… that, how was New Zealand?"

"Green."

"See any hobbits?"

"No hobbits, no."

"Bummer."

* * *

><p>"<em>Reading!<em>" Emily scoffed as she was stepping out of the cab in front of 221 Baker Street. "That trip was wasted on you."

Scottie followed her out and they waited while John unlocked the front door. "Says the girl who hasn't picked up a book since we got here," he muttered.

"That's not true! I must've at _least _picked one up."

"It was probably the prime spot for it anyway," Scottie shrugged, "and if nothing else the poor guy needed a break after toadying to you for however many weeks!"

Emily threw Scottie an incredulous look. "Toadying?!"

"Oh, c'mon; he tucked your blanket underneath you every night!"

At this Emily folded her arms and stuck up her nose. "Fine. When it's your turn to get shot, _you _can be cold at night."

"Alright, that's enough out of you two," John laughed.

They were just starting up the stairs when Mrs. Hudson came out from her own flat. "Oh, John, you're back!" the woman exclaimed happily. "How is Sarah?"

"She's good," John called back, leaning over the railing.

"You'll have to tell me all about it! New Zealand, right? I bet you got all sorts of reading done there, didn't you?"

"_Yeah, _actually…"

"Oh, but you've just come from the airport, haven't you?"

John glanced down at his suitcase. "Um. Yeah. Yeah, I have," he answered, looking up again.

"Then don't let me keep you!" the landlady insisted. "Go on and unpack your things, but after you've settled back in I want to hear all about it, you hear?"

"Perhaps I ought to sit everyone down and avoid repeating the same stories three times in a row," John thought out loud.

"That would be lovely!"

"Maybe you can do, like, a Powerpoint recap of the trip," whispered Scottie.

"You shush. Although I _do _have pictures."

John promised Mrs. Hudson once more that he would absolutely remember to recount the entire experience to her and sooner rather than later, and then he struggled to drag his suitcase the rest of the way up the stairs. The man had just passed the landing in front of 221B on his way to his own bedroom when Sherlock came running downstairs.

"Don't unpack," the detective was saying, "we're going on a holiday. More or less."

John stopped and watched Sherlock pass him and start into the living room. "But I just came back from my holiday," John protested. "I've only just come in the door!"

Whirling back around, Sherlock held onto the door frame with both hands and leaned out. "Yes, hence 'don't unpack'."

Wrinkling his nose first, John backtracked a couple stairs and set his suitcase back down against the landing's wall. When he had turned around again Sherlock was already further inside 221B. John followed Scottie and Emily into the flat, where he could now see that the detective was furiously flipping through an assortment of papers on the dining room table.

"Scottie, did you move that foldout from the other day?" Sherlock asked loudly.

"Yes, but I brought it back."

Sherlock pushed aside several more papers before he found what he was looking for. This he brought over to John, explaining, "Four days ago I was contacted via email by Matilda Briggs, the owner of this cruise line, which departs from South Dock Marina and makes a two-day trip down the Thames going East and back. Miss Briggs had concerns about one of her boats, which had taken off on schedule but never made its return date. I'll admit, I wasn't interested in the misplaced ship until Miss Briggs reached out to me again this morning, saying that this was the same case with two more of its kind."

"Well, they've got to still be along the River Thames somewhere," John shrugged. "It would take quite a lot of skill to stray off of a path like that."

"That's what you would think. Ships don't vanish, particularly not in a confined space."

"But these ones did?"

Sherlock nodded grimly.

"This might be a dumb question," Scottie chimed in, "but wouldn't it make sense to talk to someone onboard? Even if there was some sort of radio malfunction, cell phones are still a thing, and I bet most of the passengers and crew had those on them."

"Communications with all onboard personnel was lost shortly after departure in each of the three cases."

Emily raised an eyebrow. "Really? You tried _every_ number on passenger registers for three different cruises?"

"Yes, that would be how I spent most of my morning," Sherlock replied, looking vaguely annoyed.

"Wow. Impressive."

"Tedious if anything."

John glanced down at the paper in his hands once more, exhaled, and had a seat on the sofa. "So what then?"

"What indeed." The corner of Sherlock's lips rose into a knowing smirk.

John stiffened and leaned forward, his face dead serious. "You want us to go on the cruise and see if it happens again," the man realized. "Are you sure that's such a good idea?"

"I already spoke to Miss Briggs over the phone. She said we needn't worry about purchasing tickets ourselves. They were all booked up anyway, but in case of overflow emergencies they apparently leave a couple rooms unoccupied."

John looked over at Scottie and Emily, who were already grinning back at him obnoxiously. "_Fine,_" the man sighed. "How soon does it leave?"

* * *

><p>"You know, when you said we were going on a pleasure cruise, I was picturing bathing suits and Hawaiian shirts," Emily grumbled. Instead she was hugging herself and in a sweater and puffy vest. A thick layer of fog blanketed the harbor. "There is nothing remotely pleasurable about freezing one's ass off."<p>

"You forget that most of the world doesn't have the little bubble of nice you're used to," Scottie told her snidely.

"So you keep reminding me. God, I can't wait until summer rolls around and I can finally break out my short shorts…"

The two of them were patiently waiting outside of Matilda Brigg's tiny office not all that far from the docks. The fog masked most things just a few feet in front of them and blended in with the gray sky, but in the distance several ships' masts were still visible. Emily started to bounce in place a little in a poor attempt to warm herself up.

"_Oh fuck me,_" Scottie suddenly wheezed beside her. Emily stopped and turned her head in time to see Sherlock and John coming out of the building, and Sherlock was now wearing an all-white uniform that looked almost too much like a Halloween costume to be the real deal.

"Permission to take a selfie, Captain?" Emily asked as little too eagerly.

"Permission denied," Sherlock shot back.

"Too late!"

Camera phone at the ready, Emily hopped up on the rope railing that surrounded the harbor and proceeded to take a picture of the both of them.

"Delete that," Sherlock frowned, making a grab for the phone. Emily snorted and stepped down, pulling it back and out of reach.

"Are you kidding? This is going on John's blog!"

"What's with the costume change?" Scottie asked, currently fighting back the urge to laugh or start sobbing with joy. He hadn't decided exactly which he was feeling more just yet.

"What better way to move about a ship freely than to appear to belong on it?"

"But… you didn't pick up a couple of those for us, did you?"

"Sorry bud," smiled John. "You two will be posing as regular passengers along with me."

Scottie frowned. "Well that's no fun. Why are you only one who gets to play dress-up?"

"Because I think we both know that that's too much responsibility for you to not screw up," Sherlock lectured. The man reached into a shirt pocket and took out two tickets and keys, which he handed off to each of the kids. "These are your passes onboard and room keys."

"Scottie Watson?" Scottie read off of his ticket.

"You're more or less undercover as a perfectly ordinary family spending their vacation sightseeing halfway down the River Thames. The ship shouldn't be difficult to find; only departure South Dock Marina has scheduled for this morning."

The boy tucked his key into a back pocket and started to fold his ticket in half. "Aren't you coming on with us?"

"I'll be just behind you. To avoid drawing attention we're going to have to pretend not to know one another prior to this cruise, understand?" Both teens nodded. "Good. That being said, from this point on try to avoid direct communication. Text me if anything suspicious comes to your attention and I will make an effort to do the same."

Once Sherlock was absolutely sure that Scottie and Emily knew what the plan was (not that there was all that much of a plan to go off of) he sent the three of them on their way further down the maze of docks up to the water, each lugging an overnight bag with them. It was there that they found their vessel. This was considerably smaller than that of a standard cruise ship, although neither of them knew enough about the subject matter to deduce much more than that. The bottom portion had been painted a bright seafoam green that looked as if it were trying as hard as it could to pierce through the thick fog. The words "Tilly Briggs Pleasure Cruise" were scrawled across it in enormous cursive letters, a phone number tacked on beneath them.

After crossing a wooden gangplank, the real Watson and his two fake Watsons handed off their tickets to a man that was dressed similarly to how Sherlock had been. "Is everything alright?" John asked, noticing that the other man was looking a bit confused as he took the tickets.

"Are you sure you've got the right ship?" he asked after a moment.

"I should think so," John insisted. "We were just talking with Matilda about a scheduling mishap and she managed to squeeze us into this time slot last minute. Specifically pointed us in this direction." John tilted his head, looking up at the cruise employee, who he was starting to think looked nervous. "Unless… _you _think there's been some kind of mistake and wish to talk to Miss Briggs about it?"

"Wh-no! Of course not, I just… Well, never you mind that," the man said and blinked owlishly. "I'm sorry for the trouble. Welcome aboard, and do enjoy your stay on the Tilly Briggs pleasure cruise!" The man backed up several steps and gestured out to the ship's deck.

"Well if _that _doesn't qualify as suspicious..." Scottie muttered under his breath.

There didn't seem to be too many other passengers onboard, and those that were generally kept to themselves. Scottie, Emily, and John saw Sherlock boarding but made a point to not ogle. The three of them instead migrated to the back end of the cruise ship and leaned over its railing, each of them quietly staring out at the partially obscured river.

"Alright, I'm gonna be the first to say I don't like this," Scottie said, turning his head towards John and Emily.

"Of course you don't," said Emily, "other people are involved."

"Okay but it's not just that. Did you see the way some of them were staring at us? Everyone seems a little… I don't know, hostile. Particularly for a _pleasure_ cruise."

John nodded. "You're right. But probably best not to do or say anything about it just yet. Whatever's going on here, I doubt they'll take too kindly to our snooping."

It was a while longer before the ship actually set into motion, and it was so slow at first that they didn't even notice they were moving right away. Emily sighed and doubled over the railing so that her arms dangled off the edge. "Man, I was so excited about going on a cruise, but this is going to be rather boring, isn't it? It's way too cold to use the pool. There's too much fucking fog to do any sightseeing. I've got my fingers crossed that the buffet at least lives up to its Yelp ravings…"

"Hey, why don't you two find your room and drop off your things there?" John suggested. "Get to know your way around the ship a little."

Scottie made a face. "Um. I suppose we could… Do you know what direction that would be in?"

"No idea."

"Great. Really helpful."

Emily nodded her head to the side and took up her bag in one hand. "C'mon; I remember walking past the stairs leading below deck. They're probably around there."

"You know, another thing: this ship is very, very empty for a pleasure cruise," Scottie was saying as they descended the staircase. "I know I can't expect it to have hundreds like the Disney one you see on TV all the time, but there should be at least… what, sixty or so? I could easily count the number of passengers I saw out there on my fingers! On _one hand, _no less!"

"Why don't you keep talking about your conspiracy theory at twice that volume so everyone involved can hear?" Emily threw back sarcastically.

"In case you've forgotten, this case gets titled Tilly Briggs Cruise of _Terror_. I think I have every right to voice my anxieties concerning it."

At the bottom of the stairs they came to a long hallway that stretched out for the length of the ship. Lining it were a series of what looked like hotel rooms. Scottie and Emily each pulled out their keys and had a look at the room numbers carved into them - both of which were 26.

"Guess we're sharing," Emily muttered.

They had little trouble locating their room down the line, and once they got to it Emily unlocked the door and pushed it open. It was terribly small. On one side of the room was a bunk bed, and at the other a sink and mirror next to a door that probably lead to a restroom. A short walkway existed between where the teens were standing and a rounded window opposite them.

Emily wrinkled her nose. "The brochure didn't say anything about renting out a walk-in closet. Oh well. Dibs on top bunk." The girl came further into the tiny room and threw her bag onto the top of the bunk bed. Scottie set his own bag down at the foot of the bed.

"The view sucks too," Emily pouted as she pressed her hands up against the glass.

"At least it's considerably warmer than outside. I grabbed a pack of playing cards if you just want to chill in here for a bit." Emily looked back at Scottie, who was already starting to fish the deck out from his bag. "Since, y'know, we're not really supposed to hang with Sherlock right now and as far as I can tell there's nothing to do or see up there."

"Won't John get worried about us? You know he's like that."

"He has your number," shrugged Scottie.

And so Emily plopped down across from Scottie and they quietly proceeded to play several increasingly competitive rounds of spit and egyptian ratscrew before Scottie got bored and threw the entire deck into the air and exclaimed "Fifty-two card pickup!"

Emily rolled her eyes and started to clean up the mess. "Was that necessary?" she asked.

"Yes," Scottie answered with conviction.

"...Okay."

After they'd gotten the cards orderly again and tucked them out of sight Emily checked the time on her phone. It still was a little more than an hour before noon, which she found disappointing because that was when the buffet was supposed to open.

"So. What now?" Scottie asked.

"Well… we could go explore the rest of the ship? Maybe see if we come across something remotely entertaining?"

"Oh!" Scottie gasped. "Maybe we can play hide and seek! Or hide and seek tag!"

"One two three not it!" Emily exclaimed.

"Alright, you've got sixty seconds."

Emily's eyes widened at this. "Wh… No way, sixty seconds isn't enough to find a good place!"

"Better start looking then," Scottie shrugged. "One… two… three…"

"Ugh fuck you!" Without arguing further the girl pulled open the door to their room and took off down the corridor. She didn't see anything that looked remotely like a hiding place on that level, and so Emily started quickly up the stairs to the upper deck.

But she didn't make it very far.

Almost immediately after ascending the staircase someone grabbed at the girl's forearm, jerking her to the side. Emily tried to yell out but a hand flew over her mouth from behind. She could now see that aside from whoever was behind her, she was faced with three more men, two of which looked like employees and the other could've been another passenger. Starting to panic, Emily began to kick wildly at the strangers. Two of them each grabbed one of her legs and she was lifted off of the ground, thrashing about and letting muffled shouts all the while.

"...Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty!" Scottie finished and darted out of the room after Emily. But his smile quickly faded when he heard the commotion from up above. Clinging to the railing at the bottom of the stairs now, Scottie leaned out and only just saw Emily being pulled away by a group of men that were twice her size.

"_Shit,_" Scottie wheezed. He instinctively began patting around his pockets in search of a cell phone, momentarily forgetting that he didn't have one, and then scurried back the way he came.

He had forgotten to lock the room again after vacating it, so luckily it swung open again on the first attempt. His breathing heavy, Scottie touched along the door for some way to bolt it shut further but found nothing. Scottie swallowed and pressed his back up against the door. He wasn't sure if or when they'd be coming him next, much less why, and that only made it harder to decide whether he should go try to help Emily or keep himself holed up in their room.

He apparently didn't have all that long to think about this because suddenly he heard the bathroom door knob jiggling. Scottie tensed up and stared at it for a moment. The jiggling had stopped and was followed by three knocks. Chewing at his lower lip, Scottie crossed the room and cautiously reached for the knob, already knowing that he was probably going to regret this.

Scottie sucked in a breath and held it as he pulled open the bathroom door. The boy then let out a sigh of relief. Standing across from him was Sherlock, who had a new cut across his left temple that was stained with blood but otherwise looked okay.

"So, the _good _news is that I think I've solved the case."

* * *

><p>Emily was brought into what she eventually figured out was the ship's bridge - a boxy little room with a line of glass and control panels in place of one of its walls. As soon as the guys carrying her stopped walking she bit at the hand still cupped in front of her face. Its owner gasped and dropped her so that her top half fell backwards and hit against the floor. Emily yelped.<p>

The others released her legs and Emily scrambled to her feet and made a hopeless attempt at getting back out of there. The man who she had bitten then yanked her around by her wrist, which he twisted behind her back and used to slam her down over one of the panels, pinning her into place with his other arm.

"Fuck!" Emily hissed. "_What_ is your damage?!"

"Where's the other one?" someone else asked, ignoring her. Out of the corner of her eye Emily could see that he wasn't one of the ones who had brought her, and there was one more man standing behind him. One of them was in uniform.

"Other one?" another one of the uniformed fellows echoed.

"Yes, the other kid. The boy."

"We… never saw anyone else. Sir."

The other man pinched at the bridge of his nose for a moment in obvious annoyance. "Great," he grumbled, letting his arm drop again. "Stash this one with her dad. I'll round up the rest of the boys and have them do a sweep of the lower decks. He isn't leaving this ship, you hear?"

"Yes sir."

The man who had been shouting out orders turned to his companion then and whispered something. The other gave a curt nod as soon as he had finished and left the room from the opposite side. Emily was then yanked up once more and guided out of the bridge by a thick hand gripping tightly around her neck. She had seemingly given up on putting up much of a resistance.

Emily was taken across the ship and into what appeared to be the dining hall, which consisted of a bar and several rounded tables and chairs. At the far end of the room was a janitorial closet, which Emily was unceremoniously shoved into. Emily immediately lost her footing over something, but her fall was broken by some metal shelves that were holding up various cleaning supplies.

It was an insanely tight space. The door shut behind her, cutting off the only light source. Emily whirled around and tried to pull at the door knob. "Hey!" she yelled out amid the blackness. She slammed the palm of her hand against the door. "You can't do this!"

When she wasn't answered right away Emily started to feel around the wall for a light switch. She found one, but it wasn't working. The girl exhaled anxiously and took her cell phone out of a back pocket, half surprised that it hadn't been confiscated. She hit a button on the thing, causing its screen to light up, and took a minute to figure out how to turn on its flash to use in place of a flashlight.

As soon as she had that working Emily looked down and saw that what she'd initially tripped over wasn't a bucket, but a body.

Emily shrieked and dropped the pink phone.

Now facing the floor, her light was almost entirely blocked and the room darkened again. After a moment of heavy breathing and squishing herself into the corner of the room, Emily finally found it in herself to crouch down and pick her phone back up. She pointed the device at the figure lying face-down and now recognized it as John. Emily gasped and scrambled closer.

"John!" the girl choked. "John! Oh my God, John! Are you alright? Can you hear me?"

Emily shook the man's shoulder, but he didn't respond. She set the phone down with its light facing up and put her face closer to John's just to make sure he was still breathing.

He was and that was at least a bit of a relief. Emily's arm brushed past the back of the man's head then and she jerked her arm back, having felt something wet. When she looked down at her wrist she could now see a smear of what could only be blood that looked black in that lighting. Emily pressed a hand over her mouth and took several deep breaths.

"What the _fuck _is going on!" she finally exhaled, her voice weak.

* * *

><p>"And… is the bad news that Emily just got dragged off by a bunch of creepy strangers?"<p>

"She what!" Sherlock snapped, eyes widening. "I thought she was with you! How could you let this happen?!"

Scottie frowned. "I'm sorry, but did you just say how could _I _let this happen?"

"Well there's no sense in pointing fingers about it now," Sherlock sighed and invited himself into the room, "doubtless they've got her and John in the same place, and hopefully they'll stay there until the rest of us are rounded up."

"_They've got John too!_"

"Yes of course they've got John!" Sherlock yelled back. "And that one I'll take responsibility for. I should've seen what was happening the second I stepped onto this floating metal tin. God, what were we thinking? This was such a stupid plan!" The detective kicked at the bottom bunk frustratedly and then threw himself down on it with a grunt.

Scottie rubbed at one of his arms and looked nervously at the man. "So… uh, am I allowed to ask _why_ some people grabbed John and Emily?"

"Because we weren't supposed to be here," Sherlock threw back matter-of-factly.

"I'm sorry?"

"_Technically _speaking neither were any of them, but that's not the main point. We stuck out like a sore thumb and the best of our disguises wouldn't have done a thing to change that. There's an old story, um… that there used to be a man who would cross from East Berlin into West Berlin while the wall was still up. Every morning he would ride up to the same checkpoint on a bicycle with a sack of sand tied to it. Every morning the guards would cut open his sack and search it. Finding nothing, they would let the man through. He would return that night and repeat this the following day."

Scottie blinked. "Okay…?"

"The guards apparently never realized that this man was smuggling bicycles. Whether the story is true or not is irrelevant. The point of it is how easy it is to slip something by right under another's nose without drawing attention to the main item. For instance, how would you steal a ship?"

"You… find a way to pretend you belong on it," Scottie caught on.

Sherlock smiled a little. "Bingo. It was a clever scheme, I'll give them that much. And it would explain the considerably smaller number of people onboard. The bare minimum to avoid drawing suspicion. I imagine they paid off whatever crew members aren't directly involved. I wouldn't know the exact worth of a boat this size but I imagine it's quite a lot, and they likely intend on smuggling out all eight that Miss Briggs has in her possession."

"But you had a passenger list," Scottie reminded Sherlock. "What about all of them? Were they paid off as well? Because that many _would _be rather impressive. Not to mention costly. I'm not sure if it'd even be worth it at that point."

"Aliases. None of those passengers actually existed, which would explain why none of them could be contacted as soon as the ships went off the grid. All expenses paid with the same set of fake cards, no doubt. And the time frame matches up. There was just enough time between trips for the group to take the ship across the Thames, where the Coastguard obviously wouldn't see it as out of place, and then circle back around with plenty of time to take out the next one. Either the first three were already handed off to a buyer or they're stashed in a private dock somewhere at the mouth of the North Sea."

Scottie scrubbed his hands over his face. "Okay, okay, congrats on solving the thing!" he let out. "I believe you. But if what you say is true, we're _kind of_ trapped in a confined space and _very much outnumbered_. I don't suppose you have a plan for stopping these guys?"

Sherlock hesitated with his mouth opened slightly. After a moment he closed it again and hung his head in shame. "I'm still working on that bit," the man admitted.

They both fell quiet and Scottie folded his arms and leaned his back against the wall opposite Sherlock. "We can't take them all out and turn the ship around ourselves, can we?"

"...No," Sherlock sighed, his voice much softer now. "I seriously doubt it."

More silence.

"We need to get above deck undetected," Sherlock suddenly announced and lifted his head.

Sherlock went to the door and touched its handle, but before opening it he came closer and pressed his ear against the door's crack. The man made a face and instead started to climb up the bunk bed. Scottie watch him with intrigue as he felt along the paneled ceiling and then pushed up one of the plywood panels. This he turned at its side so that it would slide down. Sherlock let it drop to the floor and stood up so that his top half disappeared into the ceiling.

"Uh... Sherlock? You okay there, buddy?" Scottie started up the ladder after him.

"This might not work," the detective admitted.

"Oh, well thanks for that boost of confidence."

"Stick close to me," Sherlock instructed and pulled himself up out of the room. Scottie crawled closer and craned his neck up. It was dark up there and all he could see now were Sherlock's feet, and even those disappeared after a moment. "Try to evenly distribute your weight and avoid kneeing the center of the panels," Sherlock went on, unseen.

"Alright, wait up!" Scottie shouted. The boy cautiously found where he could stand without hitting his head and struggled to pull himself up through the crawl space.

"Also probably avoid talking at this point."

Scottie wrinkled his nose. Now that he was completely up he could just make out Sherlock's outline scooting away from him and into the darkness that seemed to stretch out in every direction. As they got further out he began to hear muffled voices from below and made an extra effort to keep the volume of his movements to a minimum.

They were doing so far so good up until Scottie lost his footing over one of the panels and it snapped in half and dropped. The boy slid backwards but stopped himself from falling completely through with one foot while his other leg dangled off the edge.

A series of excited shouts told Scottie that this mishap hadn't gone unnoticed. Beginning to panic again, Scottie kicked and tried to push himself back up but he had nothing to grab onto. Without giving it much forethought Scottie slammed a fist through another one of the panels and used the bar between the missing ones to try and pull himself up.

Suddenly he felt a hand grab hold of his ankle and pull it down. Scottie gasped and clung tighter to the bar. He looked up and saw Sherlock had spun around and was lying on his stomach in front of him now. Sherlock held out a hand to Scottie and pulled him in the opposite direction.

Scottie yanked his foot away from whoever had previously had him, losing a shoe in the process. The boy reared back and kicked whoever it was in the face just before being pulled back to safety.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked, his voice low.

Scottie nodded.

With the nod of his head Sherlock lead Scottie onward. It had just started to feel as if their pursuers had given up when something poked through another one of the panels several feet away from them, knocking it down. The gesture was repeated. Sherlock didn't look back but quickened his crawling pace.

Finally they reached the opposite end of the ship. Of course they couldn't see where it ended, but they could certainly feel it.

"Now what?" Scottie whispered, glancing back nervously at the panels that were still being knocked down one at a time. A good distance remained between them and the commotion, however, and it occurred to Scottie that this was because they were now above the rooms at the other end of the hall.

Scottie couldn't see what Sherlock was doing now, and the man didn't bother to answer him (one of his more frustrating traits). A new stream of light poured in when Sherlock lifted up a panel and put it aside. The detective peered down through it and then jumped in. Scottie took a deep breath and come closer to stick his own head through the hole.

Below him wasn't another bedroom but some sort of closet. Scottie still wasn't entirely sure what they were doing but he jumped in after Sherlock anyway. He had been just a little higher than he wanted to be and as such didn't land so gracefully.

"Need a hand?" Sherlock asked rather distractedly.

"Not anymore..." the boy winced back.

The paneled ceiling stopped halfway through the room, giving way to some kind of hatch with a metal ladder leading up to it.

"Is that a fire escape?" Scottie asked, picking himself up.

"Something like that."

The hatch brought the boys up at the rear end of the ship, hidden just behind its dining hall. It was midday now and most of the fog had burned off, but it wasn't much warmer despite this. Sherlock glanced out around the corner of the building and spotted the guys from before just coming up from the stairs at the ship's center. Sherlock sucked in a breath and turned back to Scottie, who was awkwardly waiting behind him.

"I'm just making everything ten times harder, aren't I?" Scottie asked guiltily.

Sherlock shrugged. "Well. Ten is a bit extreme, but… a bit, yeah."

"Sorry."

Sherlock leaned his back up against the wall and took out his phone. He made a face at the long string of missed calls and texts that Emily had apparently left for him, but he chose not to look at them just yet. "Lestrade," he said into the phone after a moment, "any chance you can call in a favor with the marine police forces? I need a cruise ship cut off. Somewhere between" - Sherlock shut his eyes tightly for a brief period of time before they snapped open again - "the East India Docks and Woolwich Foot Tunnel. Sorry I can't be more exact than that. Uh, smuggling. And abduction. Yeah. Don't take your time."

Sherlock hung up then and pressed the phone against his chest. Scottie frowned back at him. "You didn't think to make that call sooner?"

"How's your swimming?" the detective suddenly asked, acknowledging Scottie again.

Scottie squinted back at Sherlock distrustfully. "What are the odds of me saying I'm a strong swimmer and you _not _throwing me into the Thames to prove it?"

"Slim to none. I don't expect you to make it across all one-fifty-some meters, but there are plenty of other boats on the river, especially at this time of day. Your best shot is getting on one of those."

"Wh…" Scottie shook his head. "No, I wanna stay and help!"

"And if things don't pan out, knowing you got away is somewhat helpful." Sherlock made a quick glance around the corner once more. He didn't see the guys anymore, but figured it wouldn't be long before they turned their search in that direction.

"Why can't you come with?" protested Scottie.

Without giving him a reason, Sherlock hoisted the boy up over the railing despite his squirming and dropped him over the edge. It was a long fall and then the icy water engulfed Scottie. He popped back up moments later with a dramatic gasp for air and then flipped Sherlock off before starting to swim as hard as he could away from the ship.

Back onboard Sherlock silently hoped that he'd done the right thing just then. Now hoping to find John and Emily and get them to do likewise, the detective skimmed through Emily's texts until he found the ones saying where she was. Sherlock tucked his mobile away and began to circle around the building. He then spotted another person headed in his direction. Knowing that he'd been seen, Sherlock took off running around the opposite side, where he was immediately cut off by two more.

The first of the two threw a punch in Sherlock's direction, which he narrowly avoided. Neither of them were particularly good fighters, and their reflexes were slower than his. Sherlock probably could've taken both of them had they not had more friends just around the corner. In a matter of minutes the detective was outnumbered and thrown to the floor, where he was then kicked repeatedly until he couldn't even find to strength to try and stand up again.

"Alright, knock it off!" someone bellowed.

At this the attackers stopped what they were doing and the crowd took a couple steps back from Sherlock, who began coughing. Sherlock wiped the back of his hand against his bloodstained mouth and squinted up at the newcomer. He was dressed similarly to how Sherlock and some of the other men were, but this man was additionally wearing a captain's hat.

"Who do I contact about filing a complaint against this cruise line?" Sherlock croaked.

The man in the hat looked down harshly at Sherlock. "That would be me," he answered with a sly smile. "Captain Joshua Ratner."

"You're in charge, then?"

"That I am."

"Not of this ship, though. Not according to the registry."

The other man's smile quickly faded. "Get up," he instructed.

Sherlock thought momentarily about this demand. "No actually I'm quite good down here, thanks."

Several of the other sailors exchanged glances before hoisting Sherlock to his feet with a pained gasp. "Secure him to the railing," Captain Ratner ordered. "This one was hard to get hold of. I don't want to go through the whole thing again."

Ratner's instructions were carried out and Sherlock's wrists were bound behind his back and around a section of the ship's railing by some kind of rubber-wrapped cord. "Just who are you?" Ratner slitted his eyes and stepped closer as soon as the deed was finished. "We would've known if you were really with Tilly Briggs."

"I'm an associate of Miss Briggs," Sherlock answered. "I was asked to look into the recent disappearance of several of her ships."

Ratner snorted. "Private dick, then. Glorified trespassers if you ask me. How much do you know?"

"Everything."

"He's lying!" one of the other men accused. "Ain't no way he knows what's what."

"Don't suppose it matters either way," shrugged Ratner. "Whatever information he thinks he has on us isn't leaving this ship."

"Not true," Sherlock countered. "I've already contacted the authorities. They should be waiting to board and make the arrests at the next checkpoint. This ship won't make it out of the Thames. Not today." As he spoke, Sherlock had been already struggling to nonchalantly unclip a swiss army knife from a set of keys that were attached to a belt loop behind his back.

The man who had spoken before's nostrils flared. "A liar and a bluffer!"

"Alright, that's enough out of you!" snapped Ratner. The other man lowered his head and Ratner faced Sherlock again, grinning. "You must think you're pretty clever, don't you?"

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything but since you bring it up…"

With a soft click the knife came off and Sherlock flipped it open and got to work at cutting through the thick mess of cords. It was a difficult enough angle already without looking and more than once he pricked his hand with the tiny blade, but Sherlock kept on a poker face and forced himself to engage in conversation with Ratner.

Ratner folded his arms and puffed out his chest proudly. "I'm not afraid of being boarded. They can search this place high and low and won't find anything remotely suspicious about a cruise ship already pre-scheduled to pass by at that exact time. Maybe a ton of people heard about the previous incidents and decided not to show at the last minute? It isn't unheard of."

"And you aren't even a little bit worried that I might say something?"

"Why should I? By then you and the other stowaways will already be long since buried at the bottom of the Thames."

Sherlock stiffened. "Other stowaways?" he repeated.

"Yeah. That family of three you came with."

"I didn't come with anyone else," Sherlock lied. "Please, if there's a family onboard that isn't a part of your scheme then they were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Leave them alone." Geez, just how many times _had_ they wrapped that cord around?

"I find that hard to believe," the captain scoffed. "The trip was booked up months in advance. Managing to get onto it goes way beyond wrong place, wrong time. And even if that were the case, it wouldn't change a thing. Those guys have seen too much to be allowed to leave." Ratner turned around to address his men now. "Say, why don't you boys go and fetch our guests? Bring 'em a couple chairs too while you're at it."

Sherlock watched frustratedly as all six of the other men took off to do Ratner's bidding. "You don't want to do this," he begged.

"Oh? Pray tell, why not?"

"Because we aren't like the fake passengers on the registry. If we go missing people will notice and they'll come looking. They'll know where we last were and figure out you're responsible."

Ratner shook his head smugly. "Look all they want, but they won't find anything. We'll be long gone by then. And so will you."

* * *

><p>Emily had been trying to get ahold of Sherlock for the last twenty minutes or so. Her phone said it had service but he wasn't responding and that made her worry that the messages weren't going through. The battery was beginning to dwindle and eventually Emily gave up and set the device down on the floor next to her.<p>

She sat sideways, leaning up against the wall and unable to see anything in the darkness. Emily had absolutely no idea how long she remained like this, but after a fair amount of time she heard John let out a grunt.

At this Emily scrambled to pick up her phone and turn the flashlight back on. John was starting to get to his knees as she pointed it at him and he held up a hand to block the light and groaned louder.

"Oh, sorry!" Emily quickly apologized and set the thing down.

"Emily…?"

"Yes hello it is I."

Sitting upright now, John blinked a couple times in succession and touched at the back of his head and winced. He held his hand out in front of his face and looked unhappily down at the blood that was now staining it.

"I was hit from behind," he muttered. Although it was unclear if John was remembering this or assuming based off of the injury he just discovered.

"I assumed as much," Emily said softly. "And then, I was playing with Scottie and these guys ambushed me and… and threw me in here. Why would they do that?" she asked John. "Do you know why they would do that?"

John exhaled and shook his head. "My guess is as good as yours, kid. Where's Scottie?"

"I don't know."

"What about Sherlock? Is that your phone? Did you text him?"

"I don't know. I tried to but he wasn't responding."

John took a couple deep breaths and glanced around the very dimly lit closet. "Where are we?" he asked.

"Next to the dining hall," she responded. John clung to the shelves and used those to stand up. He then reached for the door knob. "Don't you think I tried that already?" Emily sighed wearily.

But the door did open as soon as John tried it. Emily's eyes lit up in surprise at having been wrong but they both quickly realized that that wasn't why it had opened. Standing across from them was a group of six men. Without a word in edgewise the both of them were pulled out of the janitorial closet and dragged through the dining hall and around the back of it. This was where they saw Sherlock leaning up against the edge of the ship and facing another man that Emily remembered very clearly from earlier.

"Where's the boy now?" spat Ratner, whirling around angrily at them as they approached.

"We… never found him. Sir." one of the men answered for the others.

Ratner balled up his fists. "What do you mean, you never found him?!"

"We searched the whole ship, every nook and crany. We thought he was with the man in our uniform but that didn't turn out to be the case."

"Well then keep searching!" fumed Ratner, starting to go red. "Roger, Eric, Chris - you go. I swear to God, you boys better find him or you'll both be taking his place."

"Yes sir!" the three of them nodded and excused themselves from the huddle.

"The rest of you tie the stowaways to their seats. I want them off my ship."

John and Emily were both unhappily forced into a chair and the coil of cords was brought over.

"H-Hold up!" one of the men suddenly exclaimed and tugged at Ratner's sleeve. "If you're just planning on killing them, couldn't I borrow the girl for a bit first?"

Several sets of horrified eyes fell on this man.

"_Jesus_," Ratner hissed, "are you serious?"

"Hey, waste not, want not! C'mon; all I need is an hour tops, then I can dump 'er myself."

Ratner hesitated briefly before yanking Emily out of the seat by her vest and shoving her into the other guy's arms with a shriek. "Fine, but make it a half hour. I don't want anything left lying around if and when the authorities get here."

John jumped up and lunged forward, but he was immediately pulled back by two of the men. As soon as he was back in the chair they started tightly stringing the cord around him. "Oi!" John barked. He pulled furiously against the binding. "Don't you dare touch her!"

Emily tried to pull away but the man took her by her wrists and held her into place with her own arms wrapped around herself. "Say Capt'n, would you fancy a go after I'm finished warmin' 'er up?" the brute snickered.

"I'll pass," Ratner said flatly.

The other man shrugged. "A'ight. Your loss." With that he let go of his current grip on Emily and grabbed a fistful of hair with one hand and dug his nails into her forearm with the other.

"I said don't touch her!" John yelled after him. "Did you hear me? Touch her and I'll kill you! I will _actually _kill you!"

"Alright, shut up, Daddy," one of the men behind John grunted and bent over to shut the doctor's jaw by force. John couldn't see Emily and the stranger any longer. Now there was just Ratner and two of his cronies remaining. Still fuming, John jerked his head away.

It was at that moment that Sherlock finally managed to sever the last bit of cord. Now wielding the swiss army knife out in front of himself, he charged at Ratner, pinning him against the wall. The other men exchanged glances but otherwise made no move to step in.

Ratner snorted. "Not bad. I'll admit, I'm impressed. Such a small blade, too."

"Small but just as effective," seethed Sherlock.

"Is that the title of your sex tape?"

"Bring her back up here and let the man go."

"Empty threats," sang Ratner, full of confidence. "As much as you might want to slit my throat right now, you won't. So long as I don't fight back, you don't have it in you."

Sherlock pressed the knife slightly harder against the captain's throat so that just a trickle of blood started to form along the very end of the blade. His breathing was heavy. But Ratner's smile didn't fade until he heard someone's voice calling out from over a megaphone.

"_This is the Marine Police Forces,_" the voice announced. "_We have you surrounded. Under British law, please halt your vessel and prepare to be boarded._"

His face entirely transformed into a scowl now, Ratner met Sherlock's eyes. "Guess they're running ahead of schedule," Sherlock told him, it being his turn now to smirk.

"Throw the stowaway over," Ratner glowered.

Sherlock leaned back, his face falling again. "What?"

"THROW HIM OVER."

Sherlock whipped his head around just as the two remaining sailors hefted John's chair into the air and chucked it overboard. John let out a yell as this was happening. Sherlock let the knife drop from his hand and darted back to the railing, Ratner laughing from behind him all the while. One of the other men tried to pull Sherlock back by his collar but the detective snapped around and socked him in the face, making the guy topple backwards and knock over his companion in the process.

Sherlock leaned over the railing and then stepped back again and kicked off his shoes. Next he pulled off his uniform's shirt. Sherlock then climbed up the ship's railing and swan dove into the water after his flatmate.

* * *

><p>Downstairs, Emily had been brought into one of the suites at the end of the hall. This room was considerably bigger than the one she and Scottie had been assigned to, but still wasn't even comparable to theirs back on Baker Street. The far side was entirely constructed from glass with a dark curtain pulled across and a queen sized bed sat at the other end.<p>

The man threw Emily down against the bed and shut the door behind himself. Her mind whirling, Emily climbed over it and pressed up against the opposite wall.

"Look," the man rolled his eyes, "why don't you just make this whole thing easier on both of us and get back on the bed."

Emily shook her head furiously.

He sighed. "Alright then. Hard way it is."

Emily remained frozen in terror as the stranger unzipped her puffy vest and pulled it off of her. She was holding back tears now. The man tossed the article of clothing aside carelessly and came closer to her. As a gut reaction Emily threw out a leg suddenly, kicking the man in the crotch and sending him stumbling backwards a couple steps.

She immediately realized that this could've potentially made the whole thing even worse (if that were possible) and looked desperately towards the door. There was no way she could make it out of there without being stopped. Instead Emily took a left and dove into the bathroom and looked around frantically for something - anything - she could use as a weapon.

"Oh, I _really _wish you hadn't done that…"

The first thing the girl found was a can of Febreze. She grabbed this and as soon as she had done so the man was blocking her exit. Emily charged forward, spraying the air freshener directly into his eyes. He let out a yowl and in his temporary blindness Emily shoved past him and made a mad dash for the door.

She just got to the foot of the stairs when he was upon her again. Emily screamed. But then he fell forward and face-planted into the wooden floorboards. Lip trembling, Emily looked up to see a familiar face rearing back with a fire extinguisher.

"_Scottie!_" she choked.

"If he moves I'll bash him again!" the boy spat. Both of them waited for several long seconds just to be sure, but he didn't move, as much as he may've deserved it.

"Y-You're soaking wet."

Scottie looked down at his attire, which was currently still dripping and stuck uncomfortably to his body. "Yeah," he agreed. "Sherlock kind of threw me off the ship, but then I didn't listen to him and swam around to the side with the ladder on it."

Emily tried to force a smile but instead ended up breaking down sobbing.

"Hey…" Scottie ran around the unconscious man and guided Emily so that she was now sitting on the steps beside him. He set down the fire extinguisher. "It's okay. The police are here now. Nobody's going to hurt you. It's okay."

* * *

><p>The weight of the chair pulled John down just as effectively as any anchor would've. Sherlock grabbed the top of it and struggled to drag his friend back to the surface, but the task proved incredibly difficult. Despite his best efforts the combined John and furniture was too heavy. The more he pulled up, the further down John seemed to pull him.<p>

Finally Sherlock had to let go and revisit the surface for air for himself. He immediately dove back down again, kicking furiously to catch up to where John had sank to. Since his previous attempt proved fruitless, now Sherlock tried to free John from the chair while still underwater.

Everything was cold and blurry underwater, but Sherlock located the knots at the back of the chair easily enough and started to fidget with them. It didn't help that as he was working the chair continued its descent into the Thames.

Several excruciating seconds passed and Sherlock wasn't any closer to untying the cords. They were too tightly knotted even despite the circumstances. Sherlock's lungs were starting to burn, and he could only imagine how much worse off John must have been at that moment.

Now Sherlock switched to tugging at the cords that were around John one at a time, hoping to free him that way. It wasn't easy but eventually he did manage to loosen the first one enough to pull it over John's head. The following strings of cord were considerably easier, each loosening more and more the further along he got. At last John was free and the chair continued to plummet to its watery grave without him.

The burning in Sherlock's lungs was almost tenfold now and he could've sworn they were about to burst. Sherlock fought through the pain and pulled John towards the surface with him by the man's arms. This time they both made it and Sherlock popped his head up, gasping for air. He looked over at John, at first relieved, but suddenly concerned that his friend wasn't doing the same.

Sherlock scanned his eyes across the horizon. At one side of him was the Tilly Briggs pleasure cruise. At the other was a police boat, and they must've seen him because a long rope was tossed out. Needless to say, Sherlock swam himself and John in that direction.

The end of the rope was still a good five to ten feet off, but as soon as Sherlock had gotten close enough to get a firm grasp on it he had the help of two other men pulling at the rope from aboard the police ship. Once the flatmates were within reaching distance each of the marine officers pulled them up the rest of the way.

The one who had brought John in wasted no time in performing CPR. In an impressively short about of time John was sitting upright again and coughing and spitting up water. Sherlock looked up at the cruise ship but couldn't see what was happening on it from where he was.

"Which of you is Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock looked back and saw John pointing at him in response. The officer who asked looked like he was about to say something else but he was interrupted via walkie-talkie from one of the officers that had boarded the Tilly Briggs ship from another boat.

"_We've got seven guys. Do you know if that's right?_"

The officer held down his walkie-talkie and looked to Sherlock expectantly. Sherlock nodded. "Yeah. Seven. There should be seven."

"_Confirmed,_" the officer answered.

"Ask if there's a girl with them," Sherlock requested. "There was a girl onboard. Ask if she's okay."

The officer nodded and clicked the button on his walkie-talkie, holding it up again. "Apparently there's a female onboard as well?"

"_Yes. We have two children with us. A boy and a girl._"

Sherlock exhaled rather loudly and flopped back all the way so that he was now staring up at the sky and beginning to ever so slowly dry off.

* * *

><p>"Check it, we made the evening news," John announced. He came into the room through the kitchen still in his bathrobe and grabbed the remote off a nearby table.<p>

Sherlock had run out without explanation about an hour ago and now Scottie and Emily were hanging out on the floor of 221B and eating out of microwave mac and cheese cups. John threw himself down in his armchair and turned on the TV.

"-_have stressed that they had no idea what was going on,_" an older Asian woman was in the middle of reporting. "_A full investigation of the incident is still underway in search of the three previously stolen cruise ships, but so far we have confirmed that as many as seven suspects were arrested under charges of theft, smuggling, and abduction._"

The screen changed to show a still photo of the cruise ship now, but the reporter went on with her piece uninterrupted: "_The discovery of this conspiracy has been accredited to private eye Sherlock Holmes, who was hired by the sole owner of the company, Miss Matilda Briggs._"

Next the screen cut to footage from earlier that day showing Sherlock at a harbor. He was still shirtless but now had a towel draped over his shoulders.

"_Mr. Holmes, is it true that you were able to sneak aboard the Tilly Briggs pleasure cruise while the smuggling operation was underway?_" someone offscreen asked. Their hand could just barely be seen at the bottom of the frame, now holding out a microphone.

"_Yes,_" Sherlock answered slowly. He had this look on his face that suggested the answer to that question should have been obvious and he wasn't entirely sure why it was being asked of him.

"_And was it you who phoned the police as soon as you knew what was going on?_"

"_Yes._"

"_Care to elaborate as to what did, in fact, happen this morning?"_

"_No,_" Sherlock replied after a moment of careful thought.

"_Look, this isn't… It's not a good time," _John chimed in. The camera panned over to show the man standing beside Sherlock. "_It's been a long day, the kids are tired and we just want to get home. This isn't a good time._"

The news story cut back to the first reporter. "_Miss Briggs wasn't available for comment on the lawsuit currently being filed against her company for fraud and accepting bribes. To read more on this story, visit our website under 'recent headlines'. I'm Ashley Wu, reporting-_"

John shut the TV off again, cutting of the tail end of Ashley's story. He looked over at Emily and Scottie, who had been watching it but apparently didn't have anything to say. "Shame they're suing Miss Briggs, considering she was the one being wronged in the first place," the man muttered. "What's your verdict?"

"I'm never going on another cruise again," Emily huffed. "_Never_."

"What about you?" John asked, looking at Scottie now.

The boy shrugged. "I always did think they were kind of overrated to begin with."

John smiled. "Fair enough. You know, I'm proud of you guys. You're a lot stronger than I usually remember to give you credit for."

"Thanks," Scottie said, looking down.

"Can we put this whole thing behind us and talk about something else now?" requested Emily.

John blinked and tilted his head. "Um. Alright. What did you want to talk about?"

"Let's talk about Sarah. Is everything really alright between you two?"

"Full disclosure…" John pursed his lips and took a deep breath before answering. "No. We spent half the time in New Zealand fighting and I haven't heard from her since. I was probably going to try and meet up at some point this week. See if it was… worth saving."

Emily frowned. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault."

"I know. I'm still sorry."

"Don't be."

"Or you know," Scottie butted in, "we _could _instead go on another case and just avoid dealing with everything else forever and ever?"

"We could," laughed John. "I like that. Yeah. Let's do that."


	2. The Derp Interpreter

**The Derp Interpreter**

* * *

><p>Emily was clinging to the back of the driver's seat fearfully as the bus swerved around another corner, running the stoplight. "You know, I'm pretty sure rules of the road still apply in car chase!" she yelled over the screeching of the tires. "Was this <em>really <em>the best plan you had?!"

"No, but it's fastest," Sherlock answered from in front of her. He stepped harder on the gas, narrowly avoiding hitting a van coming in the opposite direction. "We'll cut them off at the shipping yard!"

"_Or get us all killed trying!_"

"Oh, where's that cheerful disposition Scottie's always complaining about? Yellow car."

"WE AREN'T PLAYING YELLOW CAR RIGHT NOW."

"I thought you said we're always playing yellow car?"

"I KNOW WHAT I SAID. EYES ON THE ROAD, FAST AND FURIOUS."

In another couple blocks Sherlock pulled the double-decker bus into a parking lot and jammed into a space that was very nearly too compact for the vehicle. It hadn't even come to a complete stop and Sherlock was already running off. Emily reached for a nearby bar and turned to face the startled tourists behind her.

"We are… _so _sorry about that little detour," the girl wheezed. She was pretty sure at least one elderly foreigner was recording her on their phone but she tried her best to ignore it. "Um. This bus is going to be out of service for a bit, so maybe hang tight for the duration of that time and we'll find you a replacement driver at the soonest possible-"

Suddenly Sherlock was back on the bus and yanking at the hood of Emily's jacket. "O-Oh, okay!" she wheezed just as she was pulled outside.

* * *

><p>John was pressed up against one of the boxcars with his gun drawn. He heard footsteps coming towards him from around the corner. The man took a deep breath and jumped out, weapon raised.<p>

"Jesus _fuck!_" Scottie came skidding to a halt in front of him. "Watch where you point that thing!"

John exhaled and brought his arms down. "Are they back that way?"

"No, I thought you were following them?"

"Great," John muttered, "so we lost them. Alright, I'm gonna circle back this way. Cover me."

"With what?" Scottie called after the doctor, who was already darting off in the opposite direction through the maze of boxcars. "_I'm unarmed, doofus!_"

But Scottie didn't even take a step forward when Emily came sprinting down another walkway towards him.

She stopped next to him and doubled over to catch her breath. "I hate shipping yards," the girl panted. "Not only does this feel like every stereotypical cop movie ever, unless we can get high enough to see over it, we're just going to be wandering around this stupidly big place lost for the next hour!"

"_Actually_, that's not bad thinking. Mind if I use you as a ladder?"

"_Excuse _me?!"

"H-Hold still!" Scottie instructed, already trying to get up on top of Emily's back.

"Oh my God, no, what are you doing!" the girl gasped.

"I said _hold still!_"

As soon as Emily figured out what Scottie was up to she reluctantly helped hoist him up on top of the nearest boxcar. "Now help me up!" Emily demanded, stepping on her tiptoes and reaching out to Scottie above her. Scottie didn't seem to notice (or perhaps he did and didn't really care). Ignoring her, Scottie finished sliding all the way on top of the metal box and got to his feet.

"There they go!" the boy suddenly let out and ran to the opposite side of the boxcar's top.

Emily slammed the palm of her hand against the metal wall. "Oi! Get your ass back here!"

Scottie stopped at the very edge of the boxcar. Below him he saw those they'd been chasing - a particularly attractive black couple likely in their twenties or thirties and dressed in all black. They didn't seem aware of his presence. The man passed Scottie, and Scottie took a deep breath and shut his eyes just before he jumped down and landed directly on top of the girl. Upon impact the girl screeched and fell to the ground.

Her partner in crime stopped and whirled back around to see what had happened. He had only just taken a step forward when suddenly John, who was likely chasing them moments before, came running up from behind them. The doctor had both arms out in front of himself, weapon raised.

The ensemble was tense for a brief second before the girl shoved Scottie off of herself and started to get up. Scottie remained close to the ground after having been pushed to the side, on the off chance that bullets were about to start flying. Not that he didn't trust John or anything. Instead John sprung forward and grabbed the girl's forearm, weapon now pointed at her.

"You wouldn't," the other man said in a deep voice, eyes narrowing.

"I might," panted John. "Pass it off as self defense. You know I could."

The man swallowed and looked over his shoulder and then back at John. "Don't leave me, baby," the girl pleaded. "He won't do it. You can take him. Freddy…?" The male - Freddy, apparently - hesitated for several more seconds before taking off around the corner. "FREDDY!" the girl screamed after him. "_You bastard!_" She tugged away from John, who pulled her back.

"Ooh, burn," Scottie muttered as he got up again.

Sherlock must've heard them, because he eventually found his way to the site of the commotion. He had Emily with him again.

"Oh good," the detective breathed.

"That's one down," Emily noted.

Sherlock dusted off his coat and came closer to John and the girl he was holding. "I imagine that was the hard part. The other is sure to follow, now that we have his friend."

"Unlikely," countered Scottie. "He kind of fucked off and left this one behind. Hard to say, but I don't think they actually _are_ friends anymore."

"I can't believe Freddy'd just ditch me like that!" the girl choked, throwing an incredulous look in Sherlock's direction. "Like, did those three years mean _nothing _to him? I would've had _his _back!"

"Think of it this way:" Sherlock answered nonchalantly, "if he bails you out, maybe he does care after all."

"And… if I already know that he won't?"

The girl blinked up at the detective tearfully, and Sherlock smiled somewhat. "Then you can provide the Yard with all the information they need to bring him."

* * *

><p>"Star-crossed cat burglar love story," Lestrade mused, leaning over his desk to tuck away several papers in their appropriate files. "Catchy. Not that you're interested in that part."<p>

Sherlock held a sizeable plastic container out in front of himself. Lestrade had just straightened and turned around in time to see the gesture. He glanced down at it suspiciously and then raised an eyebrow at Sherlock. "What's this?" the D.I. asked.

"For you."

Lestrade doubled over to peer into the container. He could now see that it was holding a laptop. Half a laptop, really. The rest seemed to be melted away and into a strange, metallic liquid substance that filled up the bottom inch or so of the container and then solidified. Straightening again, Lestrade folded his arms and frowned. "What do you expect me to do with that?"

The detective shrugged back. "It's evidence. File it away, or whatever's standard procedure."

"Is it… toxic?"

"Minimally."

Lestrade sighed and reluctantly took the container from Sherlock. "Oh, the things I do for you…" the man grumbled.

* * *

><p>After having come into the flat Sherlock threw off his coat and started to complain about something or another while no one else was really fully listening. He stopped mid-sentence as soon as he realized the entirety of John's attention was being taken up by the computer screen in front of him. Sherlock frowned and snuck up behind the man to peer over his shoulder.<p>

"Tilly Briggs Cruise of Terror," Sherlock read. "I swear, you make it sound like you're writing a series of young adult mystery novels. This isn't Nancy Drew."

"And if I had the patience for that maybe I would. But between my actual _paid _job and you and the kids constantly whisking me out of the flat I've hardly the time. Although I wouldn't necessarily be opposed to someone else turning us into fictional characters…"

Sherlock snorted and straightened his back. "Right. As if the populace doesn't have better things to do than keep tabs on our lives."

"That doesn't count!" Scottie yelled loudly from the other room.

"Sure it does!" Emily shouted back. "If he had gotten there just a couple seconds later, who knows where that thing would have fallen!"

"Well certainly not on _Sherlock,_ I can tell you that much."

"You don't know that."

"What's going on in there?" Sherlock asked John with a sidelong glance towards the kitchen, almost afraid to ask.

John leaned over the back of his armchair. "Oh, they've started a tally of how many times we've rescued each other. The Damsel-in-Distress Olympics, they're calling it."

"God. Are they really?"

John nodded. "Mm. It's a big bet or something. They each picked one of us and at the end of the month whoever's candidate had to be saved more times wins."

"_Wow._ That's almost more offensive than the other way around. Why is _that _a competition?"

"They're children," John shrugged, "everything's a competition. Might as well let them have their fun."

Sherlock left John's side in favor of his own armchair. "I hope they realize just how many times we've both had to save _their _pathetic arses," the detective huffed and made a bit of a show of dramatically kicking out his legs to cross them. "You'd need a considerably larger whiteboard."

He sat quietly for several seconds, strumming his fingers along the chair's arms, and then leaned sideways to try and see into the kitchen. Sherlock couldn't get a good enough look at what Scottie and Emily were doing, however, and sat back again. After a moment of staring forward blankly he pulled out his phone from a pocket.

John grinned and went back to what he'd been typing. "Don't pretend you aren't at least a little curious about the current score."

"I'm _not._"

"Mm-hm."

"I'm not!" Sherlock repeated, scowling back at John. John didn't answer him, or even let his eyes leave his screen. With an exasperated sigh Sherlock set his phone down on the nearby table and jumped up to have a look at the scorecard. John immediately started to chuckle and shook his head.

There was a knock at the door and John looked up to see Mrs. Hudson, who gave her usual "ooh-ooh".

"Got a couple walk-ins," the landlady went on, stepping out of the way so that three young boys could enter flat.

"Hi," the first of them started, giving an awkward little wave.

Emily and Scottie had been in the midst of fighting over the whiteboard marker while Sherlock frowned thoughtfully at their scoreboard from just behind them. When he heard the guests arrive the detective went back into the living room. Scottie and Emily paused and followed after him, but Scottie had barely started to round the corner when Emily grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him backwards.

"Oh my God, _what?_" Scottie hissed.

"Dibs on the cute one in the American Apparel jacket," she told him and paused to untuck her hair from behind her ears before stepping out ahead of Scottie.

"Seriously?"

"Are you… the detective?" one of the boys asked.

"Yes. I assume you're here about a case?" Sherlock asked, pulling a chair out from the dining room table and setting it in the center of the room. He only actually bothered to get the one seat, so the first of the boys awkwardly sat down it in it while his two companions positioned themselves just behind. Sherlock sat down again in his own chair and folded his hands in his lap.

The first boy nodded. "Yes. Um. I-I'm Chris. Chris Melas and, uh, these are my mates, Liam and Charles." Charles and Liam kind of waved and nodded shyly, then went back to holding their hands down in front of themselves like the awkward teenagers that they were. "So. We have this website," Chris went on. "It explains the true meaning of comic books, 'cause people miss a lot of the themes."

He had only just begun and already Sherlock was showing disinterest in his story. The man had stood up while he was speaking and was starting to walk away when the kid went on, saying, "But then all the comic books started coming true."

Sherlock stopped for a moment and then backtracked.

"Oh. Interesting."

Chris made a face. "Um… yeah. You see, our website focuses on all kinds of graphic novels, but most recently we've been analyzing the right-wing values promoted in the KRATIDES series. Traditionally superhero series are very liberal-based; power to the underdog and such when it comes to fighting for justice and freedom, but not KRATIDES. It's… sort of easy to miss, I suppose, if you're reading through them rather quickly, but quite a few times in it Professor Davenport-"

"Okay, you don't need to… summarize the comics," John interjected. "Just tell us what happened."

"Graphic novels."

"Pardon?"

"They're… graphic novels," Chris corrected. "Not comics. Comic are more like strips. For the newspaper, or webcomics. These are books."

John looked over at Sherlock, who didn't reply. He turned back to the boys. "But you called it a comic book earlier."

"Yes?"

John blinked confusedly. "Just get to the _point_ already," Sherlock said, leaning forward. "What is this about them… 'coming true', as you put it?"

"Oh. Right. Well. Lately, we've started seeing KRATIDES characters out in the real world. Well, I did. It started with Sophy - that's the Wolflady. I was at New Cross Station and caught her disposing of some unattended luggage. I almost didn't believe it myself at first, thought my mind was playing tricks on me - you know, like daydreaming - but then the next day, I was out on Wadsworth Common when none other than The Flying Bludgeon himself swoops in, tackling a mugger! A-And these things, they aren't random, either. They _actually _both happened in the most recent volume of KRATIDES that we'd just finished uploading our in-depth analysis of."

John snorted, and Chris' face fell. "Do you think I'm lying about all this?"

"What? No, I just mean… Well. Heroes from some comics? _Seriously?_"

"_Graphic novels_. And I'm not making it up," Chris frowned. "Look." The boy half-stood up and took his cell phone out from a back pocket. After a moment he got up the rest of the way and walked over to John, holding it out. John took the phone from over his laptop and examined the image placed in front of him. Scottie and Emily exchanged glances and then leaned over the chair to get a look at the photo of the blue-skinned man themselves. After a moment John passed the phone off to Sherlock.

"That's Professor Davenport," explained Chris, sitting again. "Outside Greggs. In _Beckenham._ Just like in the KRATIDES volume."

"And neither of you saw these things yourself?"

"No, sir."

There was a long silence that followed before Sherlock shut the phone and looked up again.

"So… what do you think? Detective?"

Sherlock took in a sharp breath. "Three possibilities," he finally let out. "The first of which being that KRATIDES actually exists."

The boys exchanged glances at this, like they weren't sure if they actually wanted to believe this or not. "Sherlock…" John warned.

"Well, either that or Melas is simply suffering from psychological delusions."

Chris looked less pleased with this theory. "And… what's the third possibility?"

"Cosplayers?" Emily offered. "Maybe there's some kind of week-long convention going on."

"That we haven't heard of?" countered Charles, the (in her opinion) less cute of Chris' assistants. Emily shrugged.

"The third possibility is that this was all being done for your benefit," Sherlock finished his train of thought.

"_My _benefit? What could I _possibly _be getting out of all this?"

Sherlock shrugged indifferently. "Publicity. Recognition. Boosting popularity of your website, even KRATIDES itself. Anything along those lines."

Chris seemed offended by this. "I would _never_-"

"Oh, I didn't suggest you were _behind _it," Sherlock quickly clarified. "But if this is the case, then whomever is orchestrating these sightings must have their reasons."

Chris slumped back into his seat and took a deep breath. "Well. So what then? Can you help me?"

Sherlock stared back at the kid silently, fingertips pressed together just below his chin, for several long seconds before standing up again. This time he strode over to the dining table and found a strip of scratch paper and a pen, which he offered to Chris and asked the boy to write down the address of his website.

* * *

><p>"What's the plan?" John asked. "You don't <em>have <em>a plan, do you?"

Sherlock had been in the midst of pacing back and forth across the living room. The consulting detective stopped suddenly and whirled around at John, who was once again stationed with his computer out, only this time at the dining room table.

"Jesus Christ…" John looked away.

"Well _you _aren't exactly making yourself useful either, are you?" Sherlock threw back indignantly.

John shrugged. "At least I'm on their website _trying._ Just a lot of ridicule on the threads, though. Nothing that seems to suggest anyone knows anything about the supposed incidents."

There was a loud buzzing on the table. John glanced over at his phone, which wasn't the source of the noise, and then muttered "You should probably get that."

"Nope," Sherlock disagreed quickly, letting the sound of the consonant leave his lips with an exaggerated popping sound. John made a face and turned back to look at Sherlock. "It's Melas," the detective explained further. "The bloke's been ringing every couple hours trying to see if we found anything. It almost makes me want to stop looking, if we're being perfectly honest."

"Oh, hang on," John muttered. His eyes were back on the computer screen. Without looking over John waved a hand for Sherlock to come closer, and the other man did so curiously. "Check out this one user." John pointed at the screen as Sherlock hovered over his shoulder.

"Kemp," Sherlock read.

John nodded. "Aside from his assistants, this person seems to be the only one taking Melas seriously. Looks like they agree with your initial theory - the one about KRATIDES being real - and have done nothing but encourage Melas to spread this news onto different platforms. Twitter, Facebook, Google+... so on and so forth."

"But why would this 'Kemp' care so much?"

"I… I don't know," John shrugged. The man clicked on the username, which took him to a blank profile page on the website. "There's just a profile pic of a smiley face on here."

"Guess who just cracked a case all by themselves?" a third voice suddenly interjected. John and Sherlock both looked up to see Scottie strutting triumphantly into the flat, Emily just behind him.

Sherlock straightened and crossed his arms. "Would that be the case of who neglected to change the toilet paper roll? Because I believe I'd already narrowed that one down to two probable suspects."

"Sherlock. Be nice." John rolled his eyes.

Scottie stuck out a tongue, then went right on with his announcement, arms folded behind his back and chin jutted out proudly. "Jimmy Melrose Jr.!" the boy began over-dramatically.

"JJ, as his peers came to know him by," Emily chimed in.

"Yes, thank you," Scottie glared back at her. "Jimmy Melrose Jr. - or simply JJ, as I was getting to - reported the theft. However, while the message went straight to Sherlock's junk mail, JJ was fortunate that we saw it and came to his aid."

"You were in my email?" Sherlock questioned, sounding vaguely annoyed.

Emily shrugged. "I may or may not regularly rotate between both of yours when signing up for things. It's better than allowing the opportunity for a bunch of spam and ads to be sent to my own. I think this time we were retrieving the activation code for that one site with-"

"No, shut up and let me finish my story!" Scottie thrust his elbow into Emily's side.

"Alright, geez, go," she winced.

"_Anyway, _the object of focus was last seen in JJ's possession at 8 AM sharp, when he first arrived on the scene and entered the building, but by noon it was already gone. Emily and I checked out the scene of the crime, made some notes, and examined a list of possible suspects who had access to the scene of the crime. Ultimately we ended up catching the culprit by searching through all their bags until we found the dinosaur."

John raised an eyebrow. "Dinosaur?" the man repeated slowly.

Scottie nodded ever so seriously. "Yes. Dinosaur. Another case closed - up top!"

Scottie and Emily promptly high fived. But Sherlock didn't look quite as proud of them as Scottie seemed to be implying he should be. "So, essentially you both performed multiple illegal search and seizures?"

"I mean they were only first graders," shrugged Scottie. "They don't know their Miranda rights yet. Or that we don't actually hold any police jurisdiction. Really all they see are a couple scary grown-ups."

"...It was a toy dinosaur," John released slowly. He slouched back in his seat, wondering if that was supposed to have been obvious or not.

"Well congratulations on your recent success at the primary school," huffed Sherlock, "but meanwhile, there are much more important things you could be doing with your time."

Emily put her hands on her hips. "You're just jealous that up-and-coming supersleuths Scottie and Emily are out on the field apprehending criminals while _you've_ hit a slump right in the middle of what's arguably the most interesting case you've had in weeks."

"I haven't hit a _slump_," denied Sherlock. "In fact, John and I were just waiting for you two knuckleheads to get home to send you out on an errand."

"We were?" John blinked.

"John's taking you with him to purchase a copy of KRATIDES," the detective went on.

"I am…?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. I trust you can do so without getting too distracted?"

John sighed, reaching for his phone beside the laptop, and started to pull up Yelp to locate the nearest comic book store.

"And while you're off doing that," Sherlock went on, taking John's computer from right in front of him and moving it to the other end of the table, "I'm going to see if I can get a favor from an old friend…"

* * *

><p>A taxi dropped John, Scottie, and Emily outside Gosh Comics, a rather sizeable comic book store in Soho. A little bell went off as each of them stepped into the store and John was immediately overwhelmed by the sheer amount of colorful cartoons, the vast majority of which depicted scantily clad women and ridiculously buff men in copious amounts of spandex. Emily, on the other hand, spotted a familiar face in one of the aisles and excused herself from the group.<p>

"Hey!" Emily let out, excitedly bounding over to Liam. They looked up, startled, and nearly dropped the stack of comic books he was holding.

Scottie looked over and wrinkled his nose. "Straight people, am I right?" he muttered to John with a hint of disdain in his voice. John frowned back at him but didn't reply.

"Oh! H-H-Hi," stammered Liam. "You're…?"

"Emily." The girl held out a hand and Liam moved the stack into his left arm to shake it.

"Right. You were at… the detective's house."

"We're neighbors. Hang out there a lot, sometimes help out with cases when it's convenient. Kind of like babysitting, but more exciting. And I don't get paid."

Liam smiled a little. "Sounds like fun. S-So, you're kind of like Lady Moana, then?"

Emily blinked back owlishly. "Quien?"

"Assistant to P.I. Percy T. Williams," Liam answered, smile fading. "You don't… read a lot of graphic novels, do you?"

"Not… so much. No. Love the Marvel movies however," Emily quickly tried to redeem herself.

"Something for everyone, I suppose." Liam was grinning again.

"Yeah, KRATIDES sales have gone way up just this week," the guy at the cash register was in the midst of telling John and Scottie. "We were almost considering taking the series off our shelves, but now? Now we've just about run out of the next volume, and we're backordered, so I'm starting to worry we won't get any more copies until next _week, _at which point there'll be a new one anyway. Don't get me wrong - just about everyone thinks that Melas character's a real nut, either making the stuff up like a dumb prank or he actually thinks he's seeing these things come to life - but on the off chance that he's right, folks seem more than eager to get their hands on a copy and witness the next thing for themselves."

"And what do _you _think?" pressed John.

The comic store employee shook his head and chuckled. "Load of bogus, if you ask me. Still, kept my hands on a copy of the last volume, reckoning the value might go up after all this is over with. Maybe next time Melas pops in here I'll have him sign it, but he doesn't stop by too often. Not with everyone in the comics world… you know. Pointing fingers and laughing."

John nodded thoughtfully. "Any chance we could get a copy?" he asked.

The other man smirked a little. "See, you didn't _look_ the type, but something told me that's what you were really after. S'all right. No shame in getting swept up in all the excitement."

He bent over and pulled out the latest volume from inside his desk and set it down on the surface between them. "Nice touch bringing your son, however," the man went on smiling. John smiled back, not bothering to correct him on the specifics of anything. "That'll be five even."

Scottie frowned. "But everything else in here is less than _half _that."

"Supply and demand, kid," the cashier shrugged.

"It's so small, too!"

"Look, do you want it or not? I do have other customers."

Scottie looked around at the rest of the store. He really didn't; there was Emily and the socially awkward teen in the American Apparel jacket, and the comic book hub was otherwise empty.

"We'll take it," John answered, already digging out his wallet.

"So, is there someplace I can reach you if we have any developments in the case, or… whatever?" Emily asked, stepping closer to Liam.

The boy swallowed. "Well. There's a submission box on the website. Or you should probably just call Chris. I-I didn't really ever see anything, anyway. He just wanted Charles and I there for moral support. Probably wouldn't have the courage to show up otherwise."

Emily was quiet for a moment or so. "I'm asking for your number," she finally explained. Blunt and to the point.

"OH. R-R-Right, of course. Uh. Um-"

Emily brought her phone up to its new contact tab and handed it to Liam, who took it and put in his number. After he handed it back she sent a quick text, saying, "And now you have mine as well."

"Hey loser, we're going now!" Scottie called out to Emily from the front of the store. Emily looked back, quickly said goodbye to Liam, and then hurried out of the store after Scottie.

"How'd your reunion with nerdy two-shoes go?"

"_Fine,_" Emily threw back. "You know, I think it might be a good thing for us to socialize a bit with more people our own age."

"For you, maybe. Us introverts aren't quite as keen on the idea."

* * *

><p>They returned to the flat to find that in their absence Sherlock set up a little display regarding the case in front of the mirror above the mantel. Well, <em>display<em> is being generous. It really consisted of only a copy of the Professor Davenport picture Chris had shown them and a print-out map that had a building circled and labelled "Dark Robot Publishing Co. - KEMP" and then underlined several times.

"That's not very impressive," Scottie commented.

Sherlock promptly shushed him and held out an expectant hand towards John. "Oh!" the other man gasped. "Um…" He fumbled around for a moment with a plastic bag and then handed Sherlock the issue of KRATIDES from it. "Here."

"You know what would help?" Scottie went right on as if the others were still paying attention to him. "Maybe dig out some of those colored tacks you keep around, stick some fancy-shmancy red strings between the objects-"

Without looking at John or Scottie, Sherlock taped the comic to the mirror next to the map and stepped back to admire his work.

Scottie tilted his head slightly. After a moment he let out a disappointed hum.

"Maybe it'll cover more space if you tried opening it…?"

"What's this?" John asked, coming closer to the fireplace to stick a finger over the circled portion of the map.

"That would be the location of the computer from which our good friend Kemp works," Sherlock explained proudly. "A woman in my homeless network used to work in technology. I had her trace the IP address." John had pulled his hand back. Now Sherlock tapped an index finger against the mirror just below the map. "Dark Robot. Also in Soho."

John backed up again and scanned his eyes from the map to the KRATIDES cover. The man folded his arms and tilted his head at a very slight angle. "It's the same publishing company," the doctor realized.

"So it would seem."

At this point Emily realized the others were now standing practically shoulder to shoulder. Not wanting to feel left out, she quietly scooted forward to insert herself into the line.

"So. Field trip?" the girl asked, looking up at Sherlock.

The detective broke off from the formation and started walking the other way. "Monday. They'll be all closed up for the weekend by now."

"Wh…" Emily turned around and frowned. "You mean after all that we're still going to wait days to do anything?"

"What about your tech friend from the network?" offered Scottie. "You said she was able to track an IP address to Dark Robot; is it not possible for her to figure out who owns the computer from there? That way you could get a home address, or at least a phone number or email-"

"I think you're getting a little ahead of yourself," Sherlock interjected.

John shrugged. "It's not a bad suggestion, supposing it were possible, but how do we know Kemp is actually involved in the superhero cameos? It's definitely a lead worth looking into, but… if this Kemp guy, whoever he is, works for the publishers of KRATIDES then he could just be encouraging Melas to spread his story in order to promote their product."

"Doesn't necessarily mean he's behind any of it," agreed Sherlock. "But we'll find out for sure soon enough."

More time passed and Chris' frequent panicked calls didn't become any less frequent. He even popped in again that Sunday morning to see why the investigators weren't getting back to him, stressing how at this point he'd managed to drive away most of his friends and family with his claims. Chris was just about a wreck, to be quite honest, and yet Sherlock still made a point to avoid telling him any of their suspicions regarding Kemp and the Dark Robot Publishing Company.

By the time Chris had seen himself out and noon rolled around, Sherlock went back to busying himself with an unrelated project while the others lounged about in the living room and kept to themselves for a time.

"Oh, hey," Emily suddenly let out and waved her hand in front of Scottie's face to get his attention.

The boy grabbed her wrist and pushed the arm away. "Geez. What is it?"

"Liam just texted me. Apparently they're short for their DnD tomorrow night and were wondering if we wanted to join them."

Scottie wrinkled his nose. "That's weird."

"Could be fun," Emily shrugged.

"Yeah. Or just _incredibly weird._"

Emily held her phone down and frowned at Scottie. "What's your problem?"

"Excuse me if I don't want to hang out with a couple of greasy teenage boys you practically just met," he grunted back.

Emily wasn't quite sure how to respond to this, but she could feel herself getting angry. After a moment she picked herself up and stomped a foot down as if if trying to get a point across that she hadn't quite made yet. "Do you know how many friends we've made since arriving here that aren't at least in their 30s? Because I do: _absolutely none._ If fact, practically everyone I know now is a parental figure. So, yeah, excuse _me _if just once I want to pretend to be ordinary and go hang out with kids my own age."

"Fine!" Scottie snapped back, making a point himself of not looking up. "Go be 'ordinary', whatever the fuck that means. See if I give a shit."

"You're an asshole," Emily accused.

Scottie shrugged disinterestedly. "At least _I_ don't pretend to be otherwise. In any case, I don't want you in my company anyway if you're going to act like-"

But Scottie never did get to accusing her behavior of anything, because right then a copy of Crow Planet was launched across the room in his direction. The boy managed to flinch just in time for the book to smack into his shoulder as opposed to his face. "FUCK!" he let out upon impact.

Now upset himself, Scottie took up the book with one hand and stood up, preparing to hurl it back at Emily just as she was storming out of the room. He was unfortunately stopped by John, who came running up behind him yelling "Oi! No! Bad!" and confiscated the weapon.

* * *

><p>John returned from work in the early evening the following day. He found Sherlock working away at the dining room table, what John assumed to have been his lunch sitting on a plate nearby and virtually untouched.<p>

The detective didn't seem aware of John's presence at first. As such, John stood awkwardly at the center of the room for several seconds before abruptly asking "Should I be concerned?"

Sherlock lifted his head towards the other man and blinked. "Should you be?"

"Well, the kids are being awfully quiet," shrugged John. "Typically that's a plausible cause for concern."

"Ah." Sherlock pursed his lips and nodded, then took up a pencil and turned back to the large hardcover book he'd been looking over. "We're playing hide and seek," Sherlock said after a moment.

John had settled into his armchair. He cocked his head to the side. "We?" After thinking briefly John's mouth widened again with understanding. "_Oh! _Now that is clever," he exclaimed.

"I thought so, yes."

John smiled and crossed his legs. "So. How did Dark Robot go?"

"Very insightful." Sherlock set his pencil down once more. He turned in his seat to face John now. "Although I wasn't able to successfully identify Kemp, the company had a costume display in their lobby. It was more than obvious that one or more of the Dark Robot employees are involved in the KRATIDES appearances."

"Good. That's good, considering. Are you planning on telling Chris, then?"

"All in good time."

Sherlock stood up and pushed the book aside. Beneath it was the KRATIDES volume, which John hadn't even noticed he'd pulled off the mirror.

"Doing some light reading?" John teased as Sherlock brought the comic halfway across the room to him.

Ignoring him, Sherlock went ahead and flipped the thin book open to a page he had bookmarked. The page showed what appeared to be two ninjas facing off with one of the story's heroes.

"That's Latimer confronting two masked terrorists on Shaftesbury Avenue," Sherlock elaborated. "Tonight, specifically."

"And let me guess: we're going to cut them off?" John assumed.

"Well, ultimately, yes. And I intend to have Melas there to see it. I also contacted Kemp..."

"No," John uttered.

"Yes. 7:00, we're to meet him at the corner of Shaftesbury and Dean. In character."

Wrinkling his nose, John dropped the KRATIDES issue off on the end table beside his chair. "Why is it always theatrics with you?"

"I heard my name," a third voice interrupted. Scottie came into the living room.

"I assure you nobody said your name," Sherlock replied, turning. "Did you give up on me, then?"

Scottie snorted. "_Dude_. We stopped playing two hours ago when it became fairly obvious that you had no intention of looking for us."

Sherlock frowned. "Then what were you doing in my room all that time?"

While they were talking John had picked the issue of KRATIDES up again and started to look over that page and the following one.

"Oh well Emily told me not to say anything but I helped her tilt anything and everything at a roughly 45-degree angle from where you had it. And then she ditched me to hang out with Chris' loser friends and I took a shower."

"...Of course you did."

"Yeah I know, I really needed that shower."

Sherlock pulled the KRATIDES volume right out of John's hands and took it back to the dining room table. "You are aware that we don't actually know karate, aren't you?" John called after him. Sherlock shrugged.

"Karate?" Squinting now, Scottie looked from John to Sherlock. "Wait. Are there exciting action film things about to go down that I'm not yet aware of?"

"Sherlock certainly seems to think so," exhaled John.

The detective whirled around and leaned up against the back of the desk chair with a tight smile.

"You're serious about this?" John went on in disbelief. "And we're going to, what, playfight this Kemp guy dressed up as Lamer for a bit before ripping his mask off in front of Chris like an episode of Scooby Doo?"

"Oh, can we please!" Scottie let out excitedly.

"Latimer," Sherlock corrected. "And yes. That's about the gist of it."

John let out a long breath and pulled back a sleeve to have a look down at his wristwatch. He got up then and started towards the kitchen, muttering, "Well, I suppose I ought to get dinner started if we're running out again in a couple hours."

* * *

><p>"So... why couldn't Chris make it, again?" Emily inquired.<p>

Liam hesitated briefly before answering. "Truthfully, it's not that he _couldn't _make it..."

"Oh." Emily looked away. "I see."

"It's not like _that,_" Liam quickly tried to defend himself and Charles. "Chris is still our friend. He's just... been a bit of a handful lately. Every other thing out of his mouth is raving about KRATIDES being real. I mean, we're all fans here, but we know where to draw the line between real life and fantasy."

"We're worried Chris might be losing it," agreed Charles. "It's probably good for him to keep to himself for a while. Until this whole raving like a madman thing blows over, anyway."

"But enough about Chris. What's Scottie's deal?" Liam asked. "It is Scottie, right? Are you guys…?"

"Together?" Emily finished for him. "Oh, no. God no! That would be… No. Just no."

"He's your brother, then?"

Emily shook her head. "Not legally. But… might as well be, I suppose."

Charles nodded. "Fair enough."

"And why couldn't _he_ come, again?" asked Liam.

Emily shrugged. "Busy, probably."

"Come now. It's no secret he doesn't like us. We can take it."

Emily took a deep breath as she decided whether or not it was worth it to be completely honest in this situation. Ultimately she decided it was. "No offense, but he… kinda thinks you're all geeks," Emily winced.

Charles chuckled at this remark. "Well, he's not _wrong._"

"Yeah," agreed Liam. "We _are_ comic book geeks, and we're not ashamed of it" - he paused briefly - "but that's not the main difference between guys like us and guys like him."

"Can I ask what is…?"

Liam smiled. "We have each other. Guys like him… They push everyone else away, thinking they're doing the world a favor, and convince themselves that they're fine. That they don't need anyone. But they do, and they're _not_ fine. Only by the time they realize this, it's too late and they're all alone, and they have no one to blame for that but themselves. It's sad, really. I'd almost pity him."

"I… guess I do know the type," Emily muttered, looking down.

"Anyway, it's your roll," Charles said with a nod towards the dice.

"Oh. Right. Of course." Emily made a tight smile and reached for the 20-sided die, first looking up for Liam's nod that she was going for the right one. With this confirmation she rolled the die. "Eight," she announced afterward.

Charles flipped through a couple pages, asking, "Modifier?"

"What's that again?"

Liam leaned over and pointed to a stat on the page out in front of Emily.

"O-Oh, uh, four?"

"Hm. That's gonna miss."

In another half hour the girl's phone buzzed from her back pocket, and she pulled it out to see Sherlock's caller ID come up. She thought this odd because the man usually only texted. "Hello?" Emily said into the receiver.

"_Hello yourself,_" Scottie's voice answered.

"Who is it?" Liam asked curiously.

Emily held the phone down a little. "Scottie," she told him.

Liam wrinkled his nose. "What does he want now?"

"I… assume he was about to tell me. What do you want now?" Emily asked into the phone now.

"_Well, I was calling to inform you that… Wait. You're not seriously still being pissy about what I said yesterday?_" scoffed Scottie, already resenting her tone.

If eyerolls could be loud, Emily's was particularly so, although she knew full well Scottie couldn't see it. "I don't want to get into it again."

"You know, we're kind of in the middle of a battle here," Liam pointed out and gestured to the game board impatiently. Well, hand-drawn map over a grid, really. "Can't you tell him to call you later?"

Emily took a deep breath. Scottie had already started to talk again, but she completely missed what he was saying when Liam talked over the beginning of it. "Look, Scottie," Emily cut him off, "I'm with the guys right now. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"_What? No! Don't you dare hang-_"

But she _did_ hang up and started to put the cell phone away just as it began to ring again. "Ignore it," Charles instructed.

Emily hesitated before listening to him and hanging up the incoming call. This time instead of putting it back into her pocket she set the device down beside herself.

"Anyway, so that's going to be minus four-" Charles started to say when the phone buzzed once more.

"He's texting now," Emily explained, looking down at it.

"Can't you turn the thing off?" Charles asked. "It's distracting."

"What if it's something important though? He never did tell me why he was calling in the first place," protested Emily. She reached for the phone once more but was beaten to it by Liam, who took the thing and started typing into it. "What are you doing?" Emily demanded.

"Maybe now he'll take a hint," Liam said and handed it back to Emily. Frowning, Emily looked down at the message Liam had just sent to Scottie as her.

* * *

><p>"Piss off!" Scottie read aloud angrily. "<em>Piss off? <em>Just who does she think she is, anyway!" With an incredulous huff Scottie shoved the borrowed phone back in Sherlock's direction.

"Then no matter; we won't wait up for her," Sherlock shrugged indifferently. "And you can go ahead and hold onto that for me. This thing doesn't have pockets."

Sherlock was, of course, referring to the ninja outfit he and John were both wearing.

"Okay but you have to admit," John started as he fastened up his laces, "this is by far one of your stranger schemes."

"Must you always get off on pretending not to enjoy these excursions?"

John huffed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I've read you blog, I know the kind of attention you get from retelling stuff like this," Sherlock threw back.

"Alright ladies, that's enough," intervened Scottie. "You both look very pretty."

"I know you meant that in a mocking tone," John said slowly, "but I choose to take it as a compliment regardless. Anyway. Shall we?"

"Yeah hold up, I'm gonna text her the address just in case."

"Melas should be waiting for you just outside the cinema up ahead," Sherlock told Scottie. He was in the middle of pulling down the mask portion of his costume. "Remember: stick to the plan, don't intervene until my signal."

* * *

><p>Emily's phone buzzed once more beside her. While the others weren't looking she picked it up again and scrolled back to the earlier messages Scottie had sent her with Sherlock's phone.<p>

"I have to go," Emily suddenly announced and jumped to her feet.

Liam lifted his head to her. "What? But it's still so early."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Liam sighed and started to scoop his dice collection into a velvet bag. "Do you want my mom to give you a ride?" offered Charles.

Emily shook her head. "Oh, no, it's fine, thanks. I'll just take a cab."

"Nonsense!" Charles' mother exclaimed, coming into the living room. "I wouldn't dream of letting you go out with a stranger at night."

"Begging your pardon, Mrs. Mitchell, but aren't _you _more or less a stranger?"

The woman chuckled. "Oh, you're just adorable!" Still smiling, she came further into the center of the room and touched Charles on his shoulder. "Do try not to scare this one away like the others, alright?"

"_Mom!_" the boy hissed back.

"What's your address, dear?"

Emily looked down at her phone's screen. "Um. Can you actually drop me at Shaftesbury and Dean?"

"Of course, dear. Are you meeting someone at the cinema?"

"Not as such."

* * *

><p>After assuring Sherlock that he knew what he was doing and then being forced to listen to a recap of the scheme anyway, Scottie took off down the block towards a movie theater. Just as anticipated, there he found Chris. But Scottie barely got two words in when-<p>

"Look! There! Latimer!" Chris suddenly let out, pointing at a man dressed in orange and yellow who came sprinting across the street past them, cape flowing behind. "Did you see him? Didn't you?" Chris whirled around and met Scottie with wide eyes, as if he weren't entirely sure himself if he was imagining the whole thing or not.

"Well what are you waiting for?" Scottie asked. "Go chase after him!"

"Right. Yes. Of course!"

Chris made a panicked look around the surrounding area before darting off after the guy who was dressed up as Latimer, Scottie in tow. The light had already changed by the time Chris and Scottie were running through the sidewalk. A car came whizzing by just behind them. Scottie yelped and nearly tripped over his own two feet in surprise but didn't actually stop.

The two of them caught up with Latimer again at the mouth of an alleyway further down the block, where he was busy fighting off a couple of "masked terrorists," just like in the comic.

They apparently weren't the only ones at the scene, however. A handful of additional onlookers had joined them at this point. They were excitedly pointing and whipping out their cell phones as they whispered amongst one another.

The whole thing looked very staged, in Scottie's opinion. He'd seen Sherlock and John in fistfights before, both onscreen and in person. That being said, the supposed Latimer clearly wasn't all that great of a fighter and Sherlock and John were probably doing their best to make it look like a fair match.

And then Scottie saw the signal he'd been waiting for.

All at once Sherlock and John broke character and grabbed Latimer, knocking him to the ground. "That's your cue!" the boy exclaimed. He tried to shove Chris forward. "Go unmask that motherfucker!"

Chris resisted at first. The other boy dug his heels into the ground, determined to remain rooted in place, but after a few moments he stumbled forward. At Scottie's continued urging Chris took a deep breath and reached forward with trembling hands.

Scottie was about ready to just do the damn thing himself when Chris finally pulled the rubbery orange mask off of Latimer, revealing a chubby, red-faced man who somehow managed to look like even more of the comic book geek stereotype than Chris.

Suddenly Sherlock and John were fleeing the scene. Still masked themselves, they had taken off around the corner.

"You're not Latimer!" Chris gasped (as if this were much more of a groundbreaking development than it really was). "Who are you?" he demanded. His hands were tight balls now and they continued to tremble, now more with rage than fear. Chris may've even been beginning to tear up a bit. "Why are you doing this? _Why?_"

Although Scottie was vaguely interesting in how the rest of this confrontation would go, he ultimately decided to slip back through the crowd and rejoin his friends.

As he circled the corner building onto the adjacent street Scottie could now see that Emily had come after all and was in the midst of being subject to a little prank.

Without having been informed of the night's details beforehand, Emily was surprised, to say to least, to step out of Chris' mother's car and immediately be rushed by a couple of men covered in black from head to toe. She shrieked and started to flail as Sherlock hefted her up over his shoulder. Chuckling to himself, Scottie took up a jogging pace and followed after them.

Mrs. Mitchell had missed the memo as well and hopped out of the front seat in a panic. A couple feet further down the block Sherlock set Emily down again and pulled off his mask, still struggling to catch his breath from the fight just moments before.

"Oh my _God_, you completely _dong!_" Emily choked and slammed her fists down on Sherlock's chest. "Were you trying to give me heart failure?!"

John laughed and took off his mask as well. "Couldn't have you missing out on all the action, could we?"

"I beg to differ," Emily threw back flatly. "It's fine!" she called out with a wave, suddenly noticing Mrs. Mitchell standing outside of her car. "I'm fine."

"Shit," John muttered under his breath.

Sherlock turned his head. "What?"

John nodded forward. Two police officers had evidently witnessed the exchange as well and were making their way over. "I'll be right back," he promised and went forward to meet with them.

Scottie was at Sherlock's side now. "You're late," he told Emily.

"So I'm lead to believe. What happened, anyway?"

"Oh the usual," shrugged Sherlock. "Fighting crime, saving London. I've always thought of myself as a bit of a superhero, although I suppose the costume helps sell the image."

Emily couldn't quite tell to what extent Sherlock was kidding around now. "The usual?" she echoed with a raised eyebrow.

"That's what I said."

"Okay… But, what happened with Chris? Did you catch whoever it was messing with him? _Was_ it actually this Kemp guy, or…?"

"Alright, slow down," Sherlock replied. "Yes, it was Kemp. Although his exact identity is still a little fuzzy. Regardless, he hasn't broken any laws as far as I'm aware, so there was nothing to be done about it except see that Chris learned the truth. Whatever happens with KRATIDES as a result of this is a bit up in the air for the moment."

Emily nodded. "Okay. Hey, do you… mind if we had a minute?" she asked Sherlock.

The detective responded to this request by looking round at the kids and, after a moment of careful contemplation, he awkwardly backed up a couple of steps. Of course, he hadn't entirely left the general area, but this was apparently good enough for Emily, who turned her attention to Scottie now. The boy shifted uncomfortably.

"Hey… No hard feelings about earlier, right?" Emily bit at her lower lip, feeling very much guilty about the things that were said earlier. "I don't… I don't think that about you. And given the choice… Well, sure, it's fun to spend time with Dungeons and Dragons dweebs every once in a while, but…" The girl hesitated. She wasn't entirely sure where she was going with this.

Scottie shrugged indifferently. "Yeah. We're cool."

"Really?"

"Of course. Because… Well. _Just _so you know, even if those things were true, and, like, that was how you felt about me… it wouldn't even matter. Because even though I think those guys are kind of losers and jerks, I'd rather you spend time with them over me, if it's what you really wanted. _Because _- and really make an effort to treasure this because I don't say this stuff lightly - because you're my best friend and I…"

Scottie pursed his lips for a moment and held a fist up against them. "I love you," he finished, lowering his hand by mere inches. "No hetero."

Emily gasped and pressed her hands over her cheeks. "I love you too," she said softly. "No hetero."

"Hold up, I think I just threw up in my mouth a little." The teenagers looked over at Sherlock, who had an index finger held up. "No, wait. Okay, we're good," the detective decided after a moment and let his arm drop again.

"Asswipe," Scottie chuckled.

Sherlock shrugged. "Perhaps. In any case, if you two have any more gross touchy-feely stuff to get out of the way, I'm going to go make sure John isn't being arrested or anything."

Emily nodded. "Good call. You do that."

With a dip of his head Sherlock dismissed himself and made to assist John in conversing with the two officers.

"Can't believe I missed Sherlock and John reenacting a comic book scene," the girl sighed.

"Mm. Well, _personally, _I didn't think it was one of their best performances. They hardly even tried to sell the thing. Hell, you and I could've done a more convincing job!"

Emily snorted. "Yeah right. If you'll recall, our last encounter with a ninja ended in one dead girl and you nearly getting a concussion."

"...Okay yes true, but this time _we _would've been the ninjas. Well, terrorists. Or something. I didn't actually read the thing. But my point still stands!"

Emily looked at him doubtfully.

"I mean it," Scottie insisted. "You know, just once I'd like them to offer _us_ the chance to play dress up and save the day."

"Well, maybe one day. Baby steps."

Sherlock and John must've sorted things out with the officers by that point because they were coming back over and looking unusually pleased with themselves.

"You know, not everything has to go on the blog," Sherlock was in the middle of saying.

"This one is most _definitely_ going on the blog."

"Your blog consists purely of gross and tasteless entertainment. Why don't you write about that case with the melting laptop? There was at least more of a puzzle aspect to it."

"I certainly could, but that one doesn't have quite the same charm as the comic book heroes," John shrugged.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Now John. Don't tell me you actually find them _charming_."

"Tell you what," John announced, "how about _I_ write up the superhero case on my blog, _you_ can get into specifics about the melting laptop on your website, and we can compare page views in the morning? Mm?"

Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the other man reproachfully.

"YOU'RE BOTH PRETTY!" Scottie shouted once more, stepping in between the two of them forcefully. Sherlock made a show of rolling his eyes. Fighting back a grin, the consulting detective pushed the boy's head away playfully and took off back down the sidewalk.


End file.
